


'Lov'd I not Honour more'

by MadeNightwing



Category: RWBY
Genre: Ballroom Dancing, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Ironwitch, Ironwitch Week 2020, Vytal Festival (RWBY)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:08:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26551876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadeNightwing/pseuds/MadeNightwing
Summary: Duty brought them together, Duty kept them apart. But not always.Ironwitch Week 2020:Day One: Beacon Dance
Relationships: Glynda Goodwitch/James Ironwood
Comments: 7
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Glynda Goodwitch had planned her evening off to coincide neatly with the Beacon Dance. A bath, a bottle of wine, a distinct lack of James Ironwood driving her up the wall.
> 
> James Ironwood had planned to put in a brief appearance at the dance before ducking away to enjoy a quiet brandy and a good book.
> 
> Their plans are disrupted by two neat packages being delivered to their rooms just hours before the dance begins...

I’ll stay if I’m what you choose

Glynda Goodwitch was a woman of experience. A veteran huntress of a decade and a half. Alright, closer to two decades, but who was counting? Respected for her skill, loved and feared by her students (most feared). Powerful, capable, fearless in the face of adversity.

There was no way she was going to allow a little obstacle like James Ironwood’s raging ego to disrupt her planned enjoyment of the evening in front of her.

That man. That _infuriating_ man. Stubborn. Inflexible. Cold and proud. Always assuming he knew best. Always finding a reason he was in the right. Unwilling to give anyone the benefit of the doubt.

 _‘I hope you enjoy the dance, Glynda,’_ she mimicked with a snort. ‘Arrogant bastard.’

The dress sat on her bed like a declaration of war. How he’d gotten her size, she didn’t know. What she did know was that it was the finest silk from Southern Mistral, weaved into a masterpiece by an elite fashion house in the shopping district of Vale. And it had been delivered to her doorstep not ten minutes ago, right as she had been about to sink back into a rose scented bath with a bottle of wine and a good book.

A note had accompanied the dress. _General Ironwood would appreciate the honour of your first dance._

‘When Vacuo freezes over,’ she hissed. Of all the over-confident manoeuvres she’d ever seen him pull, this was by far the most egregious. She’d traded far too many favours to get out of chaperoning the Vytal Dance and under no circumstances would she dragged back downstairs so that _James Ironwood_ of all men could claim a dance with her.

He could consider himself damned lucky he hadn’t sent any matching lingerie, or Atlas would currently be short one general.

The pomposity of it all. Like she would deign to forfeit her evening off. An evening he _knew_ she had off. Snap to attention like one of his robot soldiers or, worse, simper after him like one of his little military toadies.

Impossible. Out of the question. A flagrant breach of their professional, working relationship.

She would have torn the whole ensemble to pieces had it not been for the simply exquisite embroidery on the waist.

\------------------------------------

For the last twenty-four years of his life, James Ironwood had saved a significant amount of money in clothes by simply wearing whatever uniform the military put him in. Cheap, comfortable, rarely out of style, and as a bonus he was never at a loss for what to wear.

Hence his irritation when his personal account showed a significant decrease from a high end clothing store in Vale’s shopping district. A decrease relating to an item that he could never, would never, have been bothered to purchase himself.

‘Winter,’ he growled. ‘Get in here!’

His aide appeared in the doorway a moment later, uniform impeccable, not a strand of hair out of place, and yet he knew immediately that she was responsible. A slight shifting in the eyes, a nervous tilt to her head, a guilty twitch in her lips. It was her doing.

Captain Schnee was young for her rank and position. Favouritism, some had muttered, their jealousy boiling over at the sight of a young hunter already shooting through the ranks to walk in the corridors of power. In truth, being an aide was a thankless task, long hours and menial tasks that were hardly befitting a huntress of her skill. The six months that she’d held the position, however, had been the smoothest of his entire tenure as head of the Atlas military.

Until now.

‘What is this, Schnee?’

‘It’s a suit, sir,’ Winter said blandly.

‘Yes, I can see that, Schnee,’ Ironwood growled. ‘What is it doing here?’

‘You needed something to wear for the dance tonight.’

‘I have a dress uniform.’

‘It won’t go with her dress.’

‘With _whose_ dress!?’

\------------------------------------

‘Honestly, Oz, the nerve of this man!’ Glynda ranted. She paused only to throw back the last of her wine, wiped her lips and continued on. ‘He comes to our city with a brigade of soldiers, makes himself right at home in our best rooms and is _constantly_ using the coffee machine in the teacher’s lounge.’

‘The gall,’ Ozpin agreed calmly. ‘Would you like me to do up the zipper?’

‘Please.’

In a way, Glynda was glad she had decided to call Oz first before she sent the entire thing back to James in ribbons. Oz, in an unusual display of patience and forbearance, had suggested perhaps trying the general’s gift on before, politely, returning it to him. After all, and it wasn’t just the wine talking, that was an extremely nice dress.

Even as the deputy headmistress, her salary couldn’t have covered such a gown without a considerable wince. She recognised the designer name, she’d spotted it on two or three of Miss Adel’s more daring outfits. Such a fashion house was quite out of her regular price range, even if everything from their materials to their business practices were top notch.

Nor could she argue with the finished result. Even without shoes or jewellery, it was a work of art. The off-the-shoulder, boat neck style was flattering yet tasteful. There was a slit in the left leg to just below the knee, perhaps to make it easier to dance in.

And she hadn’t danced in so long…

‘Perhaps a little jewellery to set it off?’ Ozpin suggested from behind his usual mug. ‘I would recommend the emeralds set in gold.’

‘Not a bad idea.’

\------------------------------

‘Whose dress, Winter?’

‘Anyone’s dress, sir,’ Winter said innocently. ‘A well-cut tuxedo is a perfect accompaniment to a majority of colours and styles. Your dress uniform would also make dancing quite awkward.’

‘And why,’ Ironwood growled, ‘would I be dancing tonight? This is a student affair.’

‘Of course, sir.’ Her tone, whilst respectful, had the same note in it that it usually did when she was telling him that _‘no, you cannot avoid the yearly budget meeting with the council’_. He didn’t like it.

‘Winter, lay out my dress uniform and please return this item to the store.’

‘Can’t do it, sir.’

‘Wha…are you refusing to obey my orders?’ Ironwood wasn’t outraged, merely astonished. Schnee was a model officer. Alert, innovative, able to anticipate his commands even before he issued them. For her to…

‘Your dress uniform was severely crumpled during the flight to Vale,’ Winter explained patiently. ‘I have sent it out for dry-cleaning, but with every man and woman rushing their suits and dresses in before the dance, you’re at the very back of the line. On this occasion it seemed more prudent to simply order civilian dress for you.’

‘Oh…’ It _did_ make sense, and was a very Schnee-like solution to the problem (throw money at said problem until it went away). ‘Well, still…perhaps I should simply wear my service dress instead…’

‘The service dress that you’ve been walking, moving and sweating all day in, sir?’ Her nose turned up faintly at the idea. ‘It would be ruinous to the reputation of Atlas.’

‘To show up in my day clothes? Surely you must be joking?’

Winter shook her head vigorously. ‘Sir, if you go down there dressed as you are, smelling as you do, with that coffee smudge on your lower lapel, by tomorrow morning word will spread that you didn’t take the Vytal Dance seriously. Don’t take the dance seriously and you aren’t taking the Festival seriously. And for the head of our kingdom’s military to disrespect the Vytal Festival would imply Atlas itself is disrespecting it.’

‘Well…I…’ Ironwood hesitated, glancing back down at the tuxedo. ‘So, you’re saying that to show respect I need to wear this…thing?’

‘I’m saying that to show respect, you need to look your best. This tuxedo is the best available _and_ it is in a Vale cut. If anything, it shows more respect than your dress uniform.’

Leaving aside the earlier comment about the dress, James could admit that she made a compelling point. And really, it was just a suit, after all. It wasn’t going to destroy his discipline just to spend one night out of uniform.

There was just one problem.

‘I don’t know how to tie a bow tie,’ he mumbled.

Winter beamed at him. ‘Leave that to me, sir. I used to tie my little brother’s when he was small.’

\----------------------------

In the end, Glynda had settled on emeralds set in gold, coincidentally a gift from Oz once she had become deputy headmistress. A three-part pendant dangled on the edge of a thin golden chain, with crested drop earrings and thin gold bands on each wrist catching the light in mesmerising waves.

‘Hmm,’ Ozpin’s smile was enigmatic, but then again it usually was. ‘Dare I say that you’ve never looked lovelier?’

‘It…is quite gorgeous,’ she admitted, giving her reflection a last, wistful look. ‘And if it wasn’t a gift from James, then perhaps I could…’

‘But does it really matter who it came from?’ Oz mused. ‘Can you not simply go downstairs and enjoy yourself?’

‘Oh really, Oz,’ Glynda sank back in her seat. ‘If I go downstairs wearing a gift from James then he’ll think I’ll want to dance with him.’

‘And don’t you? You once said he was the most graceful partner you’d ever had.’

‘Yes, fifteen years ago!’

‘Oh? You think his subsequent injuries have rendered him slightly less than capable in a waltz?’

He was joking. She knew he was joking. The slight smile on his face spelled out that he was joking. Further to that, Glynda had rolled her eyes at Oz and James’ many jokes about the general’s ‘lack of a leg to stand on’ and how he ‘needed a hand’. It was not maliciously meant and if James were here, he would probably laugh at it himself.

That didn’t stop her from glaring at Ozpin until the smile faded from his lips.

‘I’m sorry,’ he bowed his head. ‘That was a little uncalled for.’

‘No, no, it’s just…things have been so quiet between us since he recovered…’ Glynda trailed off as the memories swam before her eyes. The soft beep of the life support, the feel of his soft fingers around hers as the doctors explained he was going to lose his leg… ‘He used to spoil me like this all the time before...so why now? Why, when for so long he’s acted like he…’

‘People make mistakes, Glynda,’ Oz said softly. ‘And age does bring wisdom. The wisdom to make amends, perhaps?’

They could say what they would for Glynda Goodwitch, but none could call her a liar. She had once dreamed of a day when James would let her back in. But that hope had been proven false, time and again. Was his gift…this dress…could he really be making the first steps?

Could she really deny how badly she wished it were true?

‘And if it’s him just having fun at my expense?

‘Why not come down to the dance?’ Oz proffered his hand with a slight incline of his head. ‘I think, perhaps, that you will know by the way he looks at you what his intentions are.’

Glynda sighed as she rested her face briefly in her hands. ‘I must be truly desperate.’

‘To consider James’ offer?’

‘To take your advice.’ She tried to frown at him, but he made it so difficult when his smile took on just the right angle. ‘The advice of a man who hasn’t had so much as a single date in the entire time I’ve known him.’

‘Ah, but all the better my dear Glynda.’ He bowed with a flourish of his hand. ‘As a man who stands upon the sidelines, I offer the best advice of all. That of a busybody who cannot for the life of him mind his own business.’

‘Hmm.’ Glynda did not doubt a word of what he was saying. But perhaps, in this one case, he had a point. ‘Let me fix my hair. If nothing else, I’ll wear his dress downstairs and then ignore him all evening.’

\------------------------------

‘It’s too tight,’ Ironwood grumbled as he fidgeted with the tie.

‘It’s form-fitting, sir,’ Winter sipped a cup of punch and frowned at it. ‘I’m a bit disappointed at these Beacon students.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘The vodka content in this is so low it might as well be water.’

James made a mental note to inform Ozpin that people were already spiking the punch. Practically a tradition it might have been, but standards were standards and he was sworn to uphold them. Perhaps that was what made him so uncomfortable in the soft fabric of the tuxedo? What were the standards for civilian dress? He’d cleanly forgotten them, and now he was attempting to…

His eyes narrowed. ‘I notice that you’re still wearing your uniform.’

‘Sir, I could buy a brand new dress or I could file your itinerary for the flight back home once the festival is concluded.’

‘…carry on, Captain Schnee.’

James pulled at the collar again. It wasn’t uncomfortable, far from it. The material fit him perfectly, despite his complaints to the contrary. It was…strange. Was he so used to the minor discomforts of military dress that to be comfortable made him uneasy? The thought was mildly disconcerting.

‘I think I’ve had enough socialising for one evening. Please make sure Penny gets back to her dorm safely. And…’

‘Sir…’

‘I’ve put in my appearance, Schnee. That’s more than enough to satisfy any…’

‘Sir,’ Winter nodded over his shoulder. ‘Look.’

Despite his irritated huff, James turned and looked. He was looking at a staircase. His eyes travelled up the staircase and froze.

Escorted by Ozpin, garbed in a dress of deep green, Glynda Goodwitch looked less a queen and more an entire royal court. Golden hair fell in soft curls about her neck and shoulders, loose and unbound like it had been when they were young and carefree.

‘You should go dance with her, sir,’ Winter said. ‘Or at the least, extend an offer.’

‘I…I don’t know if I should,’ Ironwood turned away, but Winter caught him by the sleeve. ‘Captain, if this is another of your…’

‘Think of the image, sir,’ she cut him off with a sorrowful shake of her head. ‘The headmaster of Atlas Academy. The general of the Atlas military himself, refusing to offer a dance to Beacon’s deputy headmistress. Think how disrespectful it would look.’

‘Right.’ Ironwood swallowed heavily as he raised his eyes to the descending vision. ‘I should ask her to dance, then.’

‘You should.’

‘For the sake of international relations, of course.’

‘Of course.’

‘Diplomatic ties between Atlas and Vale depend on it.’

There was a notable pause. ‘Quite.’

He wasn’t sure if it was his own willpower or Winter’s gentle shove that got him moving. Shoulders back, jaw set, eyes forward, James Ironwood committed to his course like the first man through the cargo hatch on an airdrop. Gravity would do the rest of the work.

\-----------------------------------

‘Ah, here he comes now.’ Ozpin slipped his arm from Glynda’s and stepped to one side of the staircase. Ruby Rose squeaked as the headmaster accidentally bumped her to the side, but Glynda couldn’t find the energy to castigate him.

James was striding across the dance floor toward the staircase, looking for all the world like a soldier marching to battle. Except he was out of uniform.

Her breath caught a little as her eyes roamed over his outfit. He had forgone the stiff white tunic and leather belt, along with the ribbon bar and silver braid that marked his rank and status. He was almost plainly dressed in comparison, but the meaning of it was better than the clothing itself.

James had always known of her dislike for his rigid adherence to military dress standards. It was one of those old points of friction which they had never quite resolved. A uniform was a gallant thing, but over the years it was almost as though the uniform was hiding something. Hiding him.

He waited for her at the bottom of the stairs, a nervous tension in his shoulders so at odds with his usual ease. ‘Glynda,’ he began, and was that a catch in his voice? ‘You look wonderful.’

She tried to fight it, she really did. But the smile that spilled onto her face couldn’t be helped. The simple black of the suit, the puffy bow tie. She could have been stepping off a stairwell two decades ago, a nervous boy towering over her and trying to summon up the courage to ask her for a dance.

‘Thank you.’ She offered him her gloved hand. He pressed it to his lips with the confident grace he’d acquired since that first evening. She could feel the metal through the thin layers of their gloves. Another addition. Not as welcome as his charm and manners, perhaps, but undeniably a part of him now.

‘May I have the next dance?’

Glynda had expected the question. Indeed, it had almost been guaranteed after she had entered the room wearing his gift. If she was going to snub him for his temerity, now was the time. And yet, now that she was here…she couldn’t imagine doing such a thing. Not to spare his pride, that could certainly deal with a little bruising from time to time, but because the night was young, the music pleasant and she desperately wanted to dance.

She took his left arm. ‘Lead the way, James.’

\--------------------------------

James hadn’t danced in fifteen years. He had certainly never danced with such a heavy right foot. But that didn’t matter. Dancing was just another drill. Like marching or field-stripping a rifle, repeat it often enough and the neural pathways would spring to action at the moment of greatest need.

He stepped on her foot after ten steps.

‘Glyn…’

‘I have my aura up and concentrated around my feet.’ Glynda offered him an impish smile. ‘I trust you James, but I like to verify things.’

‘A wise precaution,’ he nodded pleasantly. ‘You’re as graceful as you ever were.’

‘I’ve stepped on your right foot twice now.’

‘I thought you were simply trying to get a little more leverage?’

‘So quick with your mouth, General,’ she teased. ‘If only you were that fast on the draw.’

‘Twenty years you’ve been spinning that joke in one way or another.’ He narrowed his eyes, a reproachful tilt in his head. ‘Twenty years and I haven’t laughed once.’

‘I think I saw a few giggles that last night at Shade…’

‘Another Vytal dance.’ His lips turned upwards at the memory. ‘You were wearing red.’

There was a faint tinge in her cheeks as she lowered her eyes. ‘You still remember it.’

‘How could I forget?’ He couldn’t keep the sly tone out of his voice, despite his best efforts. ‘You were wearing red all over.’

The rosy note rapidly escalated to a full blush. ‘James! The students!’

He glanced around, suddenly aware of the number of eyes levelled at them from both the Beacon and Atlas students. ‘Hmm, we do seem to have captured their attention.’

‘Perhaps they’re unused to seeing you out of uniform?’

‘Come on, Glynda, it’s not like I sleep in the damn thing.’

A single golden eyebrow rose skywards.

‘Much,’ he amended.

‘Hmm…’ She slipped deeper into his arms, allowing his right hand to creep around till almost encompassed her waist. Her chest was pressed to his, her mouth so close he could feel her exhalations tickling his throat. ‘Do you remember that other dance in Mistral?’

‘Where Oz sent us to infiltrate that smuggling ring?’ James spun her out and back in again, her hips grazing his for a brief moment before she twisted back into position. They were both feeling the rhythm now, old muscles having the dust brushed off them as they fell closer and closer into the melody. ‘I remember you nearly flattening that poor woman who tried to dance with me.’

Glynda huffed. ‘That _poor woman_ was a racketeer and a murderer. And she was getting far too handsy for her own good.’

‘So you _were_ jealous?’

‘No more than you were at that bar in Vacuo.’

‘Alright now _he_ was definitely asking for it.’

They both shared a laugh at that as the waltz ended. The band picked up a beat, moving into something slightly more sensual. For a moment Glynda glanced to the side of the dance floor, perhaps considering ending their dance there.

Bold action was required.

‘I think I remember this one.’ He tugged her deeper onto the floor, wincing a little as he nudged a green haired girl and silver-haired boy out of the way. ‘You used to draw every eye in the room when they played it in Atlas.’

‘Oh, I think it was just the ladies of Atlas, jealous that I had the sole attention of the military’s rising star.’

‘You flatter me.’

‘Hmm, do I?’ Her smile took a wicked turn. ‘Have you found another dancing partner since then? I’m sure you must still cut quite a figure in the high society of Atlas.’

James’ own smile faded. ‘I haven’t danced in…quite some time. I guess I never found a partner that could match you. I’m sure you’ve…’

‘No.’

‘Not once?’

‘There’s so few men in Vale that can dance. Let alone dance like you.’

He didn’t know how his throat had become so dry, his breath so shallow, his heartbeat so rapid. He could feel her own through her dress and his jacket, a cadence so familiar he could have danced to its beat. The faint scent of her perfume, the fragrance of vanilla and peaches. It took him away from the dance…a fruit orchard in southern Vale, the damp grass beneath them…

‘Glynda, I…’

The music swelled to its finish, a smattering of applause greeting it as partners broke away in search of refreshment. Glynda stared up at him, the flush in her cheeks no doubt a match for his own, her green eyes bright and wide with expectation. Her lips parted in a silent question.

All he could do was stare until the expectation turned to disappointment.

‘I need some fresh air.’ She turned back to the staircase, ascending even faster than she’d come down. James stood with his hands empty and his mind swimming. Once more staring at her back as he let her walk away.

‘Fascinating, Captain Schnee!’ A loud voice sounded from his left. ‘So, what you’re telling me is that a battle is won not through force, but through the speed of decision making?’

‘Indeed, Professor Ozpin!’ An equally loud voice half-shouted. ‘It is, above all, necessary to avoid command paralysis, and accept that a perfect decision is not always possible. All that matters is making the best decision that can be made with the information available.’

The newest decision James was struggling to make was whether he should post Winter to Argus or to the middle of Vacuo.

\--------------------------------

Stupid. So completely and utterly stupid. Dense. Thick as a plank with about as much brainpower. Yet again she regretted not punching him in his stupid, stupid, pretty face the very first time he’d said hello to her when they were seventeen.

Seventeen. So young. So impossibly young and whole and so in love with being in love that they’d never seen the true problem between them. Namely that he was an idiot and she wasn’t.

Or maybe she _was_ an idiot? She’d certainly fallen for it again. The dress, his suit, the helpless look in his eyes as she came down the stairs. Just the faintest possibility that he might still be willing to…well she’d come apart faster than a house of cards.

Glynda wanted to scream at herself. At him. At Ozpin for convincing her to come down. She blew past young Mr. Arc and Mr. Vasilias, both of home were wise enough not to stand in her path or, worse, ask her what was wrong. She just needed the fresh air. That was all.

Fresh air, and somewhere private to wipe the traitorous streaks of mascara to oblivion.

How was he still capable of undoing her like this? How could she let the walls fall around that private part of her soul that still ached for him?

‘Glynda.’

Once upon a time, her name upon his lips was like the warmth of the sun to her. Now it felt like another stripe on her back. ‘Leave me alone, James.’

‘You’re hurting. I…I hurt you.’

‘Oh, so good of you to finally notice!’ She spun toward him, grief serving as kindling for anger as he walked to her. ‘After fifteen years I was worried I was being too subtle about it!’

‘You deserved someone whole. Someone who could…’

‘If you…say another word…I’ll do something I’ll regret.’ She couldn’t stand it. Not the same excuse he’d given her during his rehabilitation. She was tired of hiding herself from him. ‘You chose a uniform over me.’

‘I chose to put my duty first.’

‘You used duty as a shield!’ He was close enough for her to touch now. But she couldn’t trust that her way of ‘touching’ him would be with a closed fist.

‘A shield,’ she repeated. ‘Against me. Like I was an enemy to keep at bay.’

He took another step forward, but she stopped him with a fierce glance. She didn’t want him to hug her. Kiss her. Give her a moment’s comfort to block out the pain. What she wanted was for him to finally understand. He hadn’t just hurt her. He’d almost destroyed her.

‘You made me want you,’ she whispered. ‘Then you promised that we’d be together once your first tour was over. But when that moment finally came…’

‘The raiders were still a threat. I couldn’t just abandon my men for my own desires.’

‘James…it’s been fifteen years.’ Her eyes finally abandoned her in her moment of need, the first trickle betraying her. The agony on his face as he saw her tears almost finished her. But she could not, _would not_ , lose her composure now. ‘You had my heart in your hands. And for fifteen years you’ve left me like this. How could you be so cruel?’

She didn’t fight him as he finally wrapped his arms around her bare shoulders. It was because of the cold. Nothing else.

‘I was afraid. I still…I still am.’ He pressed his forehead to hers, soft tears melding with her own. ‘I don’t know who I would be without a uniform.’

‘You could just be you.’ Glynda’s hand clenched at the silk of his shirt. ‘We could just be us. James…let me in.’

‘I want to.’ His lips pressed against her brow. ‘I want to, but I don’t know how.’

After fifteen years, she had never thought she’d hear it. An admission of ignorance. How many times had she hoped and prayed for a moment like this? She wasn’t like him. She was brave enough to seize her chances.

‘Then I’ll help you.’

\-------------------------------------------

‘You didn’t order me that dress, did you?’

Said dress was neatly laid over the back of a nearby chair.

‘Hmm…no. Come to think of it, I don’t think I really needed that tuxedo either.’

Said tuxedo was crumpled on the floor next to them.

‘I suppose we’ll have to think of a way to punish Oz.’ Golden curls tickled his throat as she snuggled closer to him.

‘Tomorrow?’

‘Tomorrow,’ she yawned. ‘Late tomorrow.’


	2. 'domestic life was never quite my style'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James Ironwood had sworn to be a servant of Atlas forever. No the matter the pains. No matter the sacrifices. In a way, he'd never broken that oath. James Goodwitch on the other hand, was obligated to serve no one but his wife. In some ways, Glynda was an equally demanding mistress. After all, Atlas never needed him to serve it breakfast in bed or act as a butler for their little girls' tea parties.
> 
> He wouldn't have traded it for all rank and power in the world.

‘I’m telling you, something is different about her today.’

Yang sighed quietly. A rare feat for Yang, as she seldom did anything quietly unless there was good reason. Today, that reason happened to be her distinct (and eminently reasonable) desire to avoid incurring Glynda Goodwitch’s wrath.

‘Would you just quit it?’ She nudged Ruby back into her seat when her little sister attempted to push forward again. ‘There’s nothing wrong with Professor Goodwitch.’

‘I didn’t say there was something wrong,’ Ruby growled back. Her sister fidgeted forward once more, head cocked at an angle as she attempted to shift her perspective. ‘She’s moving slower.’

‘Maybe she had a big night.’ Yang tried to elbow her again, but Ruby wouldn’t fall for the same trick twice. She slipped out of Yang’s reach, sticking her tongue out as Yang’s eyes narrowed. ‘Ruby…’

‘…would you please sit quietly?’ Weiss hissed. Dainty hands seized Ruby’s hood with unexpected strength, reefing the younger girl back into position where Yang and Weiss could both pin her in place. ‘We’re already staring down detentions for the fight with Torchwick at the docks.’

‘But what if something’s wrong?’ Ruby said anxiously. ‘What if she’s sick?’

‘More likely that she just had a late night marking essays.’ Weiss tightened her grasp. ‘Blake, hold on tight.’

‘Miss Goodwitch!’ Ruby darted forward. ‘Are you alr…’

Blake slipped her hand over Ruby’s mouth as the professor looked up toward them. The last of Ruby’s words were mumbled into her teammate’s palm, but it was too late to stop the displeased frown spreading across the professor’s face.

‘Am I what, Miss Rose?’

‘Are you alright, Professor?’ Ruby had her hands pressed tightly together, eyes wide with concern as her teammates finally gave up on holding her. ‘You look sick.’

‘I’m not sick, Miss Rose.’

‘Did you have a late night then? You’re stumbling a little.’ Weiss pointed out.

‘I’m not stumbling, Miss Rose, I am…’

‘Maybe you should lie down, you seem pale.’ Yang offered

‘Oh for the love of…’ Professor Goodwitch massaged her temples for a brief moment, her jaw twitching furiously as she restrained some no doubt cutting words for the four girls. ‘I am not ill. I did not have a late night. I am not suffering from a hangover. I am _pregnant._ ’

The announcement finally did what nothing short of physical violence was normally capable of. It completely shut up Team RWBY. And, of course, the dozens of other first year students from all four academies.

Ruby, as usual, was the first to speak. ‘Pr…pregnant?’

‘Pregnant.’ Professor Goodwitch confirmed. ‘Expecting. With child. In the family way. Would you like me to continue?’

 _‘No!’_ Was what Yang wanted to scream. Would have screamed, if Ruby hadn’t beaten her to the punch.

‘But how?’

Professor Goodwitch stared at her for a pregnant _hah_ pause, before cocking a green eye at Yang. Yang hoisted her hands skywards in sudden surrender.

‘She’s had the talk!’ She blurted. ‘Last year. She knows how it all works, I swear!’

Ruby clicked to the issue in question and turned as red as her hood. ‘No, no, I mean…you’re not married?’

Weiss and Blake’s reproachful glares were directed at Yang, as if she was solely responsible for her sister’s naivety and not the fact that Ruby’s sole teenage interests had been comic books, weapons maintenance and sparring. She could live with their good natured banter, but the snickering from the rest of the class at her sister’s expense was quickly and quietly rousing Yang to a fever fury.

Strangely, it was Professor Goodwitch who spared her the necessity of dropkicking the silver haired dick in the Haven uniform who was laughing the loudest.

‘I _am_ married, Miss Rose.’

For a second time, the room fell silent as the students puzzled out the details for themselves. Even Yang was slightly stunned by that one. Something didn’t seem quite right about that one. She raised her hand.

‘Yes, Miss Xiao-Long?’

‘Professor, my Dad’s old class photos have you listed as a fourth year in his first. You were Glynda Goodwitch in that as well.’

‘Right, right,’ Professor Goodwitch was clearly taking hold of what little patience she had left and gripping its loose strands in both her hands. ‘I see now that we have completely forsaken our goal of being professional huntresses today and have focused entirely on my personal life. I was Glynda Goodwitch and remain Glynda Goodwitch. My husband took my name when we married.’

‘Hah!’ Some asshole (it was Cardin, of course) chortled from up the back. ‘What kind of weak man would…?’

The door to the classroom opened with a slam, two blurs of gold and black shooting across the floor before they materialised as two little girls wrapped around Professor Goodwitch’s legs.

‘Mommy, mommy! Daddy said we could get ice cream on the way home if you said yes! Please say yes! Please? Please please please!’

The professor glanced down, a beatific smile briefly flashing across her face before she quickly looked back to the door. ‘Why would you put that on me, James?’

‘I’m sorry,’ a penitent voice called back. ‘They gave me the look again.’

Cardin may have enjoyed the dubious distinction of being the tallest and largest boy in the class. The man that entered the classroom would have stood head and shoulders above him even without the toddler currently resting on his shoulders. The man glanced up at them with a mildly bemused smile.

He reminded Yang a little of Dad, though their eyes were different shades of blue. He was likely not much older, although his hair was a little grey on the sides. Neatly dressed in a blue cardigan and dark grey slacks, she might have mistaken him for another professor by his build.

‘Well, since you’re here I might as well clear up a few things,’ Professor Goodwitch sighed. ‘Class, this is my husband, James Goodwitch. And our children.’

The two little girls waved furiously up at the stands, no doubt basking in the attention. The toddler was too busy snoring into his father’s hair.

Yang cast an absent minded glance around the room, making a mental note of who was laughing, and who had the appropriate googly eyes. She was pleased to see her own team and JNPR were suitably breathless. Nora was bouncing out of her seat, Pyrrha appeared to be muffling a delighted squeal and even taciturn Ren had a sweet smile on his lips. To Yang’s mild astonishment, even Cardin (Asshole-in-Chief) Winchester looked like his stubby heart had just grown three sizes.

She noted some, like the golden eyed exchange student from Haven and a few boys from Atlas, had mild to severe sneers on their faces. She shivered a little. There was something just flat out untrustworthy about people who hated kids. Especially when such kids came from a mom who was literally a professor of ass-kicking and a dad who was apparently the human equivalent of a husky.

‘Class dismissed!’ Goodwitch announced, no doubt trying to maintain her composure whilst she still had something of a reputation as a hard-ass. ‘I want that homework on my desk by tomorrow morning, no exceptions!’

There was the usual round of grumbling, but not one dared raise a protest as they hastily filed out. A few of the braver ones waved at the kids. The truly courageous waved at Mister Goodwitch.

Ruby was the bravest of all.

‘Mrs Goodwitch?’ Her sister approached with her head bowed.

‘What is it, Miss Rose?’

‘I um, I’m sorry for what I said before. About you not…’

‘It’s quite alright, Ruby.’ The professor’s eyes had softened immeasurably as she realised the girl’s embarrassment. Yang relaxed her own shoulders, thankful that the professor had seen fit to ditch her sternness at the end of class. ‘Is that all?’

‘Um…may I?’ Ruby reached out a hand and then yanked it back. ‘May I…?’

Professor Goodwitch’s face twitched a little, and for a moment Yang feared that Ruby had finally pushed the woman to homicide.

‘Oh, why not?’ The woman sighed. Taking Ruby’s hand, she laid it gently against the slowly developing bump on her stomach. ‘They aren’t kicking yet, but…’ She trailed off as she looked down at the girl.

Ruby stared back up at her, grinning from ear to ear with undisguised glee. ‘Wow.’

‘Wow indeed,’ Mr. Goodwitch grinned from beside his wife.

‘James,’ the professor warned, but there was no sharpness to her tone. Rather, she offered Ruby a small, sincere smile. ‘Is that all, Miss Rose?’

\-------------------------------------

_Fourteen years ago…_

James had never imagined a life outside the army. Or, rather, it had been such a strange thought to consider that life after the effort it took him to become a soldier in the first place. Four years of huntsman training in Atlas Academy, eighteen months of officer cadet training, another year of specialty schools in everything from urban warfare to anti-Grimm operations.

It wasn’t as if the army had been his whole life during that time. He’d found time for dating, hobbies, pursuing further education in civil subjects such as history and astronomy. But his goal had been to serve. To _lead_. To prove himself.

Dreaming about a wife? A family? A career which didn’t involve him chopping down Grimm in Vacuo or hunting faunus terrorists in the jungles of Mistral? Such a life belonged to _after_ and _after_ might never arrive. Better to focus on the job at hand.

James had always admired the soldiers who found time for families. There were so few men and women who could tolerate the rigors of being married to such a person. Atlas was a demanding mistress, it was true. There were always more Grimm to be killed, more settlements to be evacuated, more bandits to be suppressed.

Defence agreements with Vale, Vacuo and Mistral meant that at any given time most of the formidable Atlesian military was far from home, busy putting out another brushfire that the other kingdoms couldn’t (or wouldn’t) deal with themselves. Lieutenant, then Captain, then Major Ironwood had spent his twenties and early thirties with his ass uncomfortably close to some of those fires.

And he’d paid the cost.

First an arm. Then a lung. Then his leg. Part of his stomach. It had been blasted or gnawed or hacked away, one piece at a time, until he needed a chip embedded in his skull just to make it all function.

Service demanded sacrifice. The cost…he’d thought he could pay it. He’d been willing to pay it.

And then, one day, he hadn’t.

A few days later, he was lying in bed, twirling a golden ring on his finger and wondering exactly how ‘Colonel James Ironwood, CO of the 302 Brigade Combat Team’ had become ‘Mister James Goodwitch of 32 Emerald Lane’ so quickly?

The answer probably had something to do with the woman currently lying next to him under satin sheets.

Green eyes cracked open as he traced a hand along the smooth lines of her cheek, a sleepy gaze peering fondly at him through a tangle of messy golden curls. Her own hand came up to caress the edge of his jaw, thumb briefly pausing on the three day old patch of stubble there.

‘Why, Colonel Ironwood,’ Glynda Goodwitch murmured. ‘Eight in the morning already and I find you still unshaven and out of uniform? What would you troops say?’

‘I’ve mutinied.’ James nipped at her wandering fingers. ‘I refuse to obey another order.’

‘Oh?’ She leaned up on her arm, pushing her hair aside to look at him properly. ‘Even mine? Colonel Ironwood! Fetch your wife some breakfast!’

‘I shall not. First, my name is now Mister Goodwitch. Second, you haven’t given your husband a good morning kiss yet.’

‘Hmm, my husband has appalling morning breath.’ She shoved him away with playful sternness.

‘Well, if my wife isn’t calling the kettle black…’

‘Hmm, my husband had better not be implying that his wife is anything but angelic perfection regardless of the time or day…’

Their lips met softly, morning breath and all else forgotten as they savoured each other’s warmth. Glynda bit his lip softly as they parted, a shiver travelling up his spine at what her teasing implied.

‘So…would my wife like her eggs in bed or on the patio?’

‘Mmm, it _is_ a beautiful morning.’

‘Patio it is.’

\-------------------------------

On an average day from the day he received his commission until his abrupt retirement, James would wake up at four, brew himself a coffee, hit the gym for a few hours, brew another coffee and cook breakfast, read the morning reports, attend the morning synch conference, supervise training, have lunch, write reports for his seniors and orders for his juniors before conducting combat classes at the Academy. Work would generally finish at eighteen-hundred hours, whereupon he would adjourn to the officer’s mess for dinner and a few beers with his brigade’s junior officers. On returning to his quarters he would shower, then take an hour or two to relax before bedtime.

A steady, rigorous routine worked into his mental and physical muscles by years of practice. He wasn’t an idiot. He’d seen friends and comrades struggle to integrate back into the civilian world. Adjust to the lack of camaraderie, the loss of that intrinsic sense of belonging that came with wearing the blue and white. The same finely tuned instincts and sense of drive that were a boon in the service were often a liability on the outside.

James was prepared for all of it. The listlessness. The sense of drifting along without a purpose. The anxious energy that manifested without a goal to sink it into. But it never came.

He’d waited to get bored of it. Weeding the garden and trimming the rose bushes. Sweeping, cleaning, tinkering in the kitchen. Putting his feet up and catching up on the stack of books he’d been putting off reading since the academy. In the evenings, around about five, he would mix two martinis, timing their creation down almost to the second Glynda would open the front door.

Drinks in hand, dinner on the stove, Glynda’s head reclining on his chest as they idly talked about the day. His fingers working along her scalp and neck, easing out the tension until she was practically jelly in his hands. A far less demanding routine than his life as a soldier, yet it didn’t lack for reward.

‘I don’t know how I ever survived a working week without you,’ Glynda murmured one evening. ‘Has it already been three months?’

‘Close to it,’ James agreed. ‘It’s…good. It’s been very good.’

‘I was a little worried.’ She looked up at him with slightly pursed lips. ‘I thought you might get bored.’

‘Bored? Of you?’ The steep raise of his eyebrow made her giggle.

‘No, you idiot.’ Glynda interlocked her fingers with his and wrapped them tighter about herself. ‘Of, well…’

‘Peace?’

Her silence was telling. James gave a soft sigh. ‘I don’t think I could ever be so far gone that I’d prefer war to peace.’

‘I didn’t say that. But…you don’t need to pretend. Not with me.’

He really didn’t, did he? That thought alone brought a smile back to his face. There was no need to keep any more secrets.

‘There are things I miss. Things I’ll always miss.’ It was something he couldn’t help. The uniform hadn’t just been a job, it had been his home for the entirety of his adult life. Making a clean break wasn’t just a case of handing in his uniform. ‘But I’ll adapt. Maybe I’ll take up carpentry? Build a pizza oven in the yard?’

‘Hmm, maybe you could start by painting the nursery?’

‘Paint the…?’ His eyes went wide, tracking from the sly smirk on her face to the untouched martini on the table. ‘You’re…’

Glynda brought his hand closer to her stomach. ‘Confirmed it at the infirmary today,’ she said, and somehow she managed to sound _smug_ about it. ‘Now, I was thinking green, but if you have any other suggestions I’d be glad to…’

James cut her off with a kiss. Then another. A few more after that for good measure. If the dinner hadn’t threatened to burn, then he might have smothered his wife’s face with kisses forever. His wife. The mother of their child.

What was a little listlessness compared to this?

\--------------------------

Oliver Goodwitch was born on a bright spring morning, one year to the day (more or less) since James had left his resignation letter on his desk and caught the first ship to Vale.

He’d never regretted it less.

‘He’s got your eyes.’ James traced his finger gently down his son’s brow. ‘They’re so bright…’

Slumped against a mountain of pillows, Glynda smiled wearily at him. ‘Well, if you think I might be able to see my son’s eyes for myself…?’

‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ James took a step toward her, only to be stopped by a rap at the door.

‘Pardon me for interrupting.’ Ozpin stepped into the room, a fond smile on his face as he looked at them. ‘I understand there’s a brand new Goodwitch in the world.’

‘Oz!’ James changed course midstride, rushing over to him with a proud grin on his face. ‘Look at my son! Just look at him!’

Ozpin beamed down at the small bundle. ‘I’m looking, James.’

Glynda’s loud cough had both men suddenly flinch. Despite her exhaustion, Glynda’s raised eyebrow would have been enough to cow an Ursa. Being merely men, Oz and James were no match. James meekly returned Oliver to her arms, the penitent expression on his face easing her ire. Slightly.

‘We’ll leave you to rest for a while,’ Oz rested his hand on James’ shoulder. ‘I’ll have James help me pick out a suitable gift for all of you.’

‘Thank you, Oz.’ Glynda relaxed back into her pillows, child resting on her chest as she closed her eyes. She suddenly cracked one as a thought occurred to her. ‘Oz, you’d better not be taking him to a bar.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’ He spread his arms wide. ‘It’s not even midday yet.’

‘Oz…’

‘I swear, Glynda. I shall, under no circumstances, take your husband to a bar.’

\---------------------------------

It was Qrow that took them to a bar.

‘One Vale Stout for Pete.’ Qrow slurred as he pushed the drinks across the table. ‘One espresso martini for Barty, one _chocolate_ martini for Oz, a Strawberry Sunrise for Peach, and the best whiskey in Vale for Jimmy Irondad here.’

‘Isn’t it technically Jimmy Good-dad?’ Peach finished cleaning under her fingernails with the tip of one of the many, many daggers strapped to her body before lifting her cocktail to her lips. ‘Anyone else find it weird that the mother has to go through all the effort of having the kid but we take the dad out for drinks afterwards?’

‘You’re right,’ Qrow nodded sagely. ‘We should take Glynda for a girl’s weekend. Massages. Spas. Little cakes with flowers on them. Girly stuff. Love it. Great idea. I’m in.’

Oz and James shared a private smile at their antics, the headmaster clinking his glass against James’. ‘All joking aside, James, you have my heartiest congratulations. You and Glynda have the makings of fine parents. I find myself envying the years ahead of you.’

‘Hah,’ James chuckled softly, lifting the glass to take a small sip of the fragrant spirits. ‘Years of stumbling around until I finally start getting things right?’

‘No man is born a perfect father, no woman a perfect mother. Anyone who thinks themselves otherwise is setting up themselves and their children for great deal of needless pain.’ Ozpin’s eyes darkened for a moment, his hand slackening around the stem of his glass.

‘Oz?’

The moment ended quickly, Ozpin returning from whatever world he’d stepped into to smile back at him. ‘The one thing I’ve learned about fatherhood, James, is to adapt early and often. I would remind you not to treat your son like a soldier, but I have a distinct feeling that Glynda will provide most of the discipline.’

They shared a quiet laugh at the joke, one that James privately vowed to never let Glynda find out about. ‘My soldiering days are over, Oz.’

‘To my own regret at times. You left me in the rather awkward position of trying to find a replacement for you with very little notice.’

James lowered his head, his smile fading a little at the reminder. If there was one thing that still bothered him, it was the reminder of how he had fled from the duty he had sworn himself to, the duty that had shaped most of his adult life.

‘I’m sorry, Oz. I don’t think…I know I haven’t told you it before but…’

‘There’s nothing to apologise for, James,’ Oz said simply. ‘You served the cause of mankind faithfully for twelve years.’

‘I just…I couldn’t do it anymore.’

‘I know. More than anyone else, I know.’ Oz gripped his shoulder, the man’s strength always surprising James. ‘It would be monstrous of me to try and shame you for seeking a measure of your own peace. I know what it has cost you. I am not blaming you, I applaud your courage in seeking a less-travelled path.’

They stayed in that moment for a while, that moment of understanding. Something unwound in James’ gut, a coiled spring of shame and regret fading away as his friend smiled at him. That tension, had it always been there? Or had it been building ever since he made his choice? He only knew it now by its absence.

 _Was it becoming a father myself? Or was he always trying to reach me?_ It didn’t seem to matter, now.

Oz broke away first, coughing slightly as he slipped back inside himself. ‘As I said, convincing Miss Hill to join Atlas’ military and set her sights on becoming Headmistress has been a chore, but certainly nothing I can’t handle.’

‘Is there anyway I can help?’

‘Name me the boy’s godfather?’

‘We were planning on doing that anyway.’

‘Then I’m content.’

‘Jimmy, Jimmy!’ Qrow flopped onto both their shoulders. ‘I wanna be a godfather too. You and Glynda. Make more kids. I’ll be a great godfather. Swear it.’

James let out a tired sigh. ‘Being a father can’t be any more difficult than dealing with him, at least.’

\----------------------------

Glynda liked to watch her son. Oliver was an energetic baby, constantly wriggling and squirming until he was able to crawl. She was justifiably proud that he was crawling efficiently a full month younger than the average.

She’d been similar as a child, or so her own mother had claimed. Was it selfish of her to want her son to take after her?

‘I don’t think so,’ her companion replied when Glynda put the question to her. ‘After all, if Qrow can be believed, Oliver isn’t going to be the only child you have.’

Glynda blushed at the implication that _Qrow_ of all people was gossiping about her and James, and the _other_ implication that they were that obvious. That, and the sly smile on Summer Rose’s face as the younger woman sipped her tea. On the floor behind them, Oliver and Summer’s own daughters, three year old Yang and eighteen month Ruby were stacking blocks into towers and toppling those same blocks over again.

Glynda wasn’t sure when her office had become an impromptu day care centre. Wasn’t that the whole point of a house husband?

‘Well, we’ve talked about it.’ She coughed politely. ‘James is certainly eager.’

‘And you’re dragging your feet, I’m sure.’ Summer’s grin was infectious, always had been. From the moment they’d met as a fourth year and first year respectively, until now, when they both found themselves as new mothers. ‘I’m not judging. Once Ruby gets a little older Tai and I were thinking of trying again.’

‘Hmm, maybe in a little while.’ Glynda topped up her tea. ‘I hear you’re going back into the field soon?’

‘Things are getting hairy further south, Oz wants me to keep an eye on things until the local huntsman get the situation back under control.’

‘Are you sure you’re ready?’

Summer narrowed her eyes, head tilting as if to ask whether Glynda was truly serious in her question. Glynda had the good grace to dip her head in apology. She hadn’t exactly thrown herself back into her training, but she had no doubt in her mind that after seven months she was more than back to her previous best. As a combat professor she had no other choice.

‘Tai wishes I would stay out of the field a little longer,’ Summer admitted with reluctance. ‘Ruby was an easy pregnancy, but she’s twice as fussy as Yang ever was. And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted. But I’d just get restless if I stayed home in Patch for too long. That wouldn’t make anyone happy.’

‘Why not teach?’ Glynda offered. ‘Signal would be lucky to have you. Beacon doesn’t have any spots open at the moment or I’d suggest you immediately.’

‘A few reasons, most of them not worth mentioning. Mainly I think I’d be of most use out there. Breaking up Grimm packs and shattering their dens in the wild before they can get close to us. Attacks on Patch aren’t bad right now, but the outer settlements are getting hammered. I couldn’t stand the thought of my girls being left to fend for themselves like that.’

‘That’s why we keep doing what we do, isn’t it?’ Glynda watched the two infants shuffle around each other, silver eyes and green eyes flickering curiously as they babbled at each other. ‘Make the world a better place. A safer place for them.’

It caught her by surprise when Summer began to sniffle, her friend reaching across the desk to pluck a few tissues from the box there. ‘Summer? Are you alright?’

‘No…I mean, yes…Oh, I don’t know. Sometimes I think your husband was a wise man, hanging up his guns like he did.’ Summer took a deep breath, the tension in her shoulders fading as she regained control of herself. ‘Sometimes…I wish I could make the same decision.’

‘Why can’t you?’

Summer’s smile was pained. ‘Destiny.’

\--------------------------

She and James sat together for a long time after the funeral. Oliver played happily on the carpet in the main living room, her green eyed boy recovering with blissful ease from the dark mood on the cliffs of Patch. Glynda had wrestled her own tears into submission during the service, despite her grief, despite the sniffling from Ruby and Yang.

Despite the dead look in Taiyang’s eyes.

She might not have remained so composed without his hand to grip onto. Usually she preferred the left. Today she’d needed the right. She’d needed his steel.

‘I can’t stop thinking about them,’ she whispered. ‘Ruby. Yang. Those…poor girls. That poor man…’

‘Qrow’s with him,’ James answered, his voice soft. Was he miles away like her? Or was he trying to be here?

‘I’m afraid, James. Not about…dying. Not for myself. For him. For you. I don’t want that to be you standing by my grave with that look in your eye.’

He didn’t answer her, his eyes still fixed on Oliver as their son wrestled with his stuffed bear.

‘James…please say something.’

‘What do you want me to say?’ His head dropped lower, his left hand cradling his mouth as he sighed. ‘Do you want me to reassure you that could never happen? That you’ll always be smart enough and strong enough to make it back to us?’

‘Just be honest?’ She tried to smile. It didn’t reach her cheeks, let alone her eyes. ‘I’m a big girl. I can take it.’

James laced his fingers behind his head and sunk back onto the couch, his eyes shut tight. ‘I lost my father when I was a bit older than Tai’s girls. I don’t remember much of him. My mother and grandmother said he was a good man and a good soldier. All I really know about him was a picture on the wall next to a folded flag. And that my mother loved him.’

‘Your mother’s a good woman. He must have been a good man.’

‘I hated him.’ He said the words simply, without venom or rage. They were just a fact, like the sun in the sky or the green of the grass. ‘And I hated that people kept trying to convince me that he’d done it for a good reason. I sulked. I whined. I yelled at my mother a lot. It took a long time for me to make up for all of that.’

‘You were just a child…’

‘Took me a long time to get over that, too.’

‘James…’

‘Point is,’ he continued doggedly. ‘It didn’t matter how I felt about him. My mother loved him enough to let him be who he had to be. The joy of having him was worth the risk of losing him.’

His eyes opened, his hands finding hers again. ‘You don’t have to decide tonight. Or tomorrow. Or even in a week. Think all of it through. I’ll be here when you’re ready. I’ll always be here.’

\-----------------------

They took time off. Visited his mother in Atlas. Saw the wonders of Mistral. Savoured the flavours of Vacuo. By the time they got back, the twins were already well on their way.

Sunflower Goodwitch was the spitting image of her mother. Summer Goodwitch, with her thick black hair and ice-blue eyes, was alike to her father in both looks and temperament. Both were the jewels of their father’s eyes.

After her maternity leave finished, Glynda Goodwitch went back to work.

Her husband wouldn’t have had it any other way.

\---------------------

He’d taken his guns out of storage again. Glynda didn’t know why the thought surprised her so much. Her husband had not changed so much in all the years of their marriage. His hair and beard had grown out, true, and he preferred cargo pants to fatigues these days. But he was still sharp in the eyes and broad in the shoulders (if a little thicker at the waist).

Maybe she was the one who had changed? He’d never been the one to save her before. Usually it was quite the opposite.

‘Only you could storm an academy under siege with nothing but a pair of pistols.’ She flicked his nose. ‘I should be mad at you for leaving Oliver with Cav and the girls.’

‘I had to trust he was ready,’ James murmured. He was treating her injuries with deft fingers, wrapping the bandage around her shoulder where the rebar had gone straight through. ‘He’s getting pretty handy with that staff of his.’

‘And you locked them all in the safe-room?’

‘Double-locked and vacuum sealed.’

‘Good, good.’

‘Besides, I’m the one who should be mad at you.’ Some of the humour had returned to his voice. ‘I should have married a woman with enough sense not to try fighting a White Fang invasion while she’s nine months pregnant.’

‘I had it under control.’

His eyes dropped to the bundle in her arms, wrapped up tight in a red cloak donated by a nearby Ruby Rose, the short girl still grinning dopily as she cooed and waved at the newest addition to the Goodwitch household.

‘I had most of it under control.’ Glynda amended. ‘Really, until the contractions started everything was fine.’

‘If Ruby hadn’t held off the White Fang until I got here…’

‘But she did. And you got here.’ She spared a smile for the girl. ‘I think she’s also spared us the trouble of finding a godmother.’

‘And a name,’ he agreed. ‘How does _Rose Goodwitch_ sound?’

From the incoherent sounds of joy coming from the new silver-eyed godmother, it sounded very good indeed.

\----------------------

Things didn’t return to normal after the Fall. But they approached a state of normalcy, at least. With so many huntsmen dead, every able fighter was needed just to protect Vale’s defences. Despite being fourteen years out of practice, James was easily the most experienced military mind available.

‘ _General_ Ironwood of the Vale Militia,’ Glynda snorted. ‘Only you could get promoted in retirement.’

James poked her in the side. ‘Hey, says the woman who’s done nothing but lie in bed since she became headmistress.’

‘I single handedly fought off a White Fang invasion during labour.’ Glynda yawned and snuggled closer to his side. ‘I deserve some time off.’

‘I can’t believe that _I’m_ the one who has to get up and go to work early.’ James couldn’t resist another round of grumbling as he reluctantly pulled himself away and began to dress in his old fatigues. ‘The world’s turned upside down.’

‘Go forth, husband. Win bread.’ Glynda pulled his pillows closer and closed her eyes. ‘Pick me up some flowers on the way home.’

James comforted himself with the knowledge that it would only be for a few more months. Just until things settled back down.

There was a soft rap at the bedroom door. Glynda sat up, suddenly alert for anything that might be wrong. Their side of town hadn’t been hit badly by the Grimm, but the state of emergency had everyone on edge.

Their eldest was on the other side of the door, bo staff collapsed on his belt and showing no signs of combat, yet his whole posture screamed of agitation…and barely controlled panic.

‘Ollie,’ James reached down. ‘Are you alright, son?’

‘Dad…’ Oliver looked up at him uncertainly. ‘I think something’s wrong with me.’

‘Ollie?’ James frowned, his eyes travelling to Glynda who shook her head. She was just as baffled as he was. ‘What is it, son?’

There was a shimmer over his eyes. Ollie’s voice suddenly became rich in tone, melodic in cadence. And filled with sorrow.

‘James…Glynda…’ Ozpin said with their son’s mouth. ‘I am so terribly sorry.’


	3. by the light of a shattered moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Under the moonlit skies of a far off country, an exile waited alone.
> 
> Until someone came to bring him home.
> 
> Day 3: Stargazing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uploaded from my phone and suffering a lack of spacing as a result, my apologies.

The single bed in the corner was double blanketed and crisply mad with a single pillow. A set of boots, tough brown leather with a dull polish, sat neatly next to it. A small nightstand with an oil-lamp next to it, reading glasses and a thick tome on the Faunus War. A single chest of drawers in which she’d no doubt find a small quantity of rugged clothing, freshly laundered and neatly folded. A low bookshelf crammed with volume after volume of military history…and exactly one romance novel.

Glynda’s fingers brushed the top of the kitchen bench. Spotless. It smelled of fresh rosemary, there must have been a herb garden below the window.

She could feel his presence all through the place. The sensible layout of the kitchen. The orderly rows of the vegetable garden. The safety lock on the gun rack in the corner.

A smile rose unbidden to her lips. He had always been the only man who could ever match her for organization.

So lost was she in the presence of the place, she was almost startled by the sound of boots on the steps. A moment later the door unlatched, the hinges swinging without a squeak. Glynda placed down the paperweight and turned to face the door.

She wondered what it was that had alerted him. His eyes were narrowed, his shoulders set and his hand hovered over the battered service revolver in a worn leather holster. What kind of threat had he been expecting?

It hadn’t been her. His eyes shot open, his mouth dropped and for a brief moment she was treated to one of the rare joyful smiles that had always been hers and hers alone.

‘Glynda…’ His voice cracked. Perhaps from emotion, perhaps from lack of use. ‘You’re…’

‘Hello, James.’ Glynda smiled back. ‘It’s good to see you again.’

James Ironwood started forward, his arms spreading. Something stopped him after two paces. She wondered if it was propriety for a moment, then saw the sag in his shoulders, his head falling to gaze at the floor.

Ah. Shame, then.

He wasn’t the only one who could take bold action when necessary.

James tensed as her arms encircled his body, her head pressing against the softness of his left side. Well, relative softness. If anything, his musculature had only grown more defined up here in the wild.

Slowly, as if he was waiting for permission, his arms wrapped around her shoulders, a leather glove stroking the back of her head. She didn’t miss the shudder of his breath or the redness of his eyes when they finally drew apart.

‘Glynda…what are you doing here?’

‘Well, I thought I might impose on you for some dinner,’ Glynda said. ‘It was a long journey. I hope you haven’t been living on jerky and gruel up here.’

He cocked an eyebrow. ‘Well, just for that, you can cut the vegetables.’

It was the work of a few minutes for him to get a fire crackling in the hearth. The hides insulating the cabin kept the heat in well, and soon Glynda hung her travelling coat up next to his battered oilskin.

James had always been a good cook. It had been a not-so-guilty pleasure for her to invite him to her accommodation at Beacon whenever he had come to town. She need only stock the kitchen and he would generally produce a three course meal with the same ease most men ordered pizza.

There was no oven here, no hot plate or microwave. James filled an iron pot with water and set it above the fire. He went out to the smokehouse and came back with fresh haunch of venison. Glynda neatly diced carrots, potatoes and onions and placed it into the pot along with the meat. James hovered by the pot, adding sprigs of rosemary, peppercorns and bay leaves periodically until a rich, savoury smell began to make Glynda’s stomach growl.

In past times, they would have waited for their food over vodka martinis expertly mixed in delicate glasses, or sipped champagne whenever they attended a formal event. When a past Vytal Festival had taken her to Atlas, Glynda had accompanied him to a ball thrown by Jacques Schnee for the elite of Atlas. James had been a young colonel then, cutting an absurdly smart figure in a snow-white dress uniform. Ozpin had given her an early birthday present, a ball gown of midnight blue that rivaled even Willow Schnee’s dress for cut and style. She still shuddered to think how much it must have cost.

A room full of wealthy, powerful men and women, all dressed in their best. Yet all attention had been on the decorated combat officer with coal-black hair and the golden huntress dancing in his arms. It had been a night to warm her in the coldest hours, when she would wrap her cloak tight around her and dream of the sweet taste of fine wine and bright light shining behind blue eyes.

Now she drank a hoppy ale from a battered tin mug, enjoying the simple flavor as James ladled generous portions of venison stew into wooden bowls. There was no more black in his hair. No colour at all. He was barely cresting fifty, yet his beard and hair had turned completely white. He wore simple flannel and denim instead of soft silk and richly-dyed cotton.

It hurt to look at his eyes. They didn’t reflect the light quite so brightly as they used to.

Venison and potato stew was not such a bad substitute for veal in red wine, nor was golden ale an unwelcome swap for fruity cocktails. It suited him better, she thought. He had always striven to be the perfect officer, mastering the dress and mannerisms of his social betters with the same rigid discipline with which he approached combat tactics. There was no pretense now. No shield of social convention.

He’d never let her see him so vulnerable. Not since…

Glynda’s eyes fell to his right arm. James still wore a glove, hand stitched leather, even whilst his left was exposed. She once might have wondered why he still concealed his cybernetics even without anyone around to see them. She knew better now. He wore it for himself, and himself alone.

‘I don’t suppose it’s too much to hope you just came down here for a good meal?’ There was humour in his tone, but he couldn’t quite hide the edge behind the question.

Glynda set down her empty bowl, pushing her glasses up to see him better. ‘I wanted to come sooner.’

‘The headmistress of Beacon is a busy job,’ James said lightly. ‘Besides, it’s quite a slog from Western Vale to Southern Mistral.’

‘It’s quite a slog from anywhere to Southern Mistral. One would think that a man choosing to live down here was making himself hard to get to.’

‘I’m not exactly off the grid.’ He nodded at the envelopes on the table. ‘I’m not trying to hide.’

‘I didn’t say you were hiding.’ Glynda rubbed the bridge of her nose and sighed. ‘Winter told all of us where you were years ago. Said that you left the village name with her in case she ever needed to…to…’

‘Take me into custody.’

‘There’s no arrest warrant for you.’

‘I would return to Atlas to answer it if there was.’

Of that she had no doubt. ‘There’s no sentence of exile, either.’

‘Regimes change. Councilor Hill may be content to let things rest between us, but her successors could always change their minds.’

Glynda pressed her point. ‘But until then you’re a free man.’

A faint smile passed over his lips as he finally grasped her point. ‘So why do I choose to live in the backwoods of a backwater?’

‘Taiyang lives in the backwoods of a backwater. You’re so far off the beaten track I had to blaze a trail to get here.’

‘It does help to deter door-to-door salesmen.’

‘James…’ Glynda pressed a hand to her forehead, sighing quietly. ‘It’s been six years.’

‘Five years, seven months and fifteen days,’ James said softly. ‘I’m not waiting for a statute of limitations to expire, Glynda.’

‘Then what are you waiting for?’

James’ eyes turned from hers, gazing toward the smoldering hearth with an unreadable expression. Twilight had come and gone, leaving the fire the only source of light in the cabin. His left hand came up to softly stroke his beard, his brow furrowed in thought. She gave him time. She’d always given him time. Sometimes Glynda wished that she had forced him to make more decisions sooner. For a man whose career role had been to make decisions, he was remarkably indecisive about his personal life.

Perhaps his self-imposed exile had cured him of that? He stood, a decision apparently made. She’d been prepared for hours of prodding to get few words. Instead, James had turned to action.

‘Can I show you something?’

‘Of course.’

‘Grab your coat,’ he said with a smile. ‘It’s a bit of a walk.’

\-----------------------------------------

The meandering forest trail was brightly lit by the shattered moon. Glynda easily picked her way over the low roots and vines that had begun to overrun it in a few places, following James’ steady pace as they climbed away from his cabin.

He was lightly armed, the same old revolver she’d seen before hanging from his hip and a thick walking stick in his hand.

‘Where’s Due Process?’ Glynda remembered his fondness for his customized hand cannon.

‘At the bottom of the ocean.’

She pressed no further.

They came upon a clear area at the top of a rise, the view stretching out for miles in every direction. An old fireplace with a small stack of firewood sat next to it, but James made no move to light it. Instead, he pointed upwards. She followed his hand and gasped.

She could see every star in the sky.

‘The light pollution over Atlas was always bad,’ James murmured. ‘Worse than any other kingdom. Most nights you could barely make out the stars, even a hundred kilometers away from the city. But here…’

‘It’s beautiful,’ Glynda murmured. ‘But don’t think I’ll believe you cut yourself off from the world just for a good view.’

He eyed her ruefully. Why he had ever thought he could distract her from the issue at hand with a clear night sky was beyond her? Still…

‘I’m tired of the world, Glynda. And the world is tired of me. It was in both of our interests for me to just go away.’

‘There’s a difference between retiring from public life and becoming a hermit.’

‘Oh for the love of…’ James ran a hand through his hair. ‘Do you want me to say that I left because I was ashamed? I was! I am!’

Glynda allowed him his moment, waiting quietly for him to finish his outburst. This was what she had come for. To break through the shell he’d built around himself. To help him, not to hurt him.

‘Do you want me to say that I dread how they’ll look at me?’ He slumped to the ground, sitting heavily against the woodpile. ‘I know what I did. I know they’ll never forgive me. I know… _he_ will never forgive me.’

She sat next to him, reaching out a hand to brush a stray lock of white hair away from his brow. He didn’t recoil from her touch. That was something.

‘That’s not it, James.’

He glanced at her, brow furrowing in a silent query.

‘You’ve convinced yourself you’re unforgivable.’ She overrode his protests without care. ‘That you’re the worst monster who’s ever lived. And since no one was punishing you for that, you decided to punish yourself. Sentencing yourself to eternal exile on the edge of the world until you rust, refusing yourself the comfort of the people that love you.’

His eyes lifted to trace the constellations that ebbed and swirled like an oil painting. ‘There’s no one left that loves me.’

‘Please don’t say that.’ She tried to draw his eyes to meet hers. His refusal was sharp and stubborn. ‘James, I…’

‘Glynda, we’re both a little too old for white lies.’ His voice was steady. Certain. Drenched in self-loathing. ‘I was prepared to leave five million men, women and children to die. I shot…’

His eyes fell from the stars and his fists clenched so tight she could hear the creaking of metal. ‘I shot Oscar.’

Glynda’s head bowed. She remembered. Remembered the shock of the story, the tears she had wept from sheer horror. She’d been unable to reconcile the memories of his gentle hands with the iron grip that had squeezed the trigger.

‘You broke my heart, James.’ She didn’t say it to be cruel.

‘I seem to make a habit of that, don’t I?’ The words would have been callous if his voice hadn’t broken in the delivery. ‘If I could take it back…but I can’t. I can never go back. It’s too late.’

For a soldier who had never shied from battle, she had never ceased to marvel at how he hid himself from his deepest feelings. From the moment they met, all those years ago. Hiding his desire for her love by burying himself in duty. Hiding his desire for a family by devoting himself to his army. And now, hiding his desire for forgiveness by wallowing in his shame.

Glynda was tired of letting him hide.

‘You’re still afraid.’

His head jerked to face her, his eyes showing his confusion. Whatever he expected her to say, that hadn’t been it. This would hurt him, she knew that, but if it could save him…

‘I think you lost yourself that night,’ she pressed on. ‘You threw away your heart to survive. Snuffed out who you were in order to do what you believed was necessary. I thought maybe some time out here had helped you find yourself again. But you haven’t, have you? You’ve just bandaged your wounds and pretended they’ve healed.’

 _Just like you always have_.

‘What do I have to be afraid of? Salem is gone. Atlas is safe. The world is safe.’ His jaw stiffened. ‘I failed, Glynda. I’ve accepted that. Ozpin’s children saved the day.’

‘If the war is over, James, then why are you still fighting it?’ Glynda brushed his temples again. ‘Why are you fighting your own desire to make amends?’

‘Because he won’t forgive me!’

The words were harshly spoken, but James’ head remained in her hands. The strength in his neck flared for a moment, then faltered. He slipped downwards until his brow was buried in her shoulder.

‘I’m afraid he won’t forgive me,’ he mumbled. ‘That I’ll beg his forgiveness and he’ll refuse. And he’d be right to refuse. What I did…’

‘Don’t lie to me, James.’ Glynda said calmly. ‘Not ever again. I’m…I’m so tired of it.’

He didn’t speak. He didn’t move. She knew he feared her next words.

‘I think you’re afraid that he _will_ forgive you,’ she whispered. ‘And your pride won’t survive that moment.’

She felt the collar of her shirt begin to dampen as his shoulders shook. She tightened her grip around his head, running her fingers through his snowy mane.

‘Glynda…’

‘You have to let the general die.’ She kissed his head softly. ‘I know you needed him. To survive. To be strong. To _fight_. But you’ve let him win too many times. Kill the general. Be James again.’

He lifted his head, eyes meeting hers. ‘You think it’s that simple? That they could forgive me just like that?’

‘Some will. Some won’t. It’s going to be…well, I was going to say a battle.’ She managed a broken smile. ‘But I think you’ve fought enough of those. They have good hearts. All of them. You fell so far, James, but the man I loved wouldn’t have been afraid to rise again.’

The light shone brightly off his eyes. ‘I’m not afraid.’

He was. But that was alright. Only a fool would be unafraid in so deep a mire. He was brave enough to reach out a hand, his fingers stretching for hers.

She lifted her hand to the back of his neck and began to draw him in, her face tilting to meet him.

‘I’m not afraid either.’

There, under the stars of Mistral, the tin general offered his final surrender to Glynda Goodwitch.

He had never stood a chance.


	4. 'at least you're still in the game'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had turned away all visitors after he woke up. Books and phantom pain were his only companions. Every day coming to grips with the fact that his missing limbs and organs weren't coming back. He didn't know how to come to grips with that. He needed time.
> 
> Outside, Glynda Goodwitch grew tired of wasting her only free day in weeks.

‘Is he any better today?’

Pietro scratched his beard, eyes flicking from the blonde woman in front of him to the doors to his left. ‘That’s a loaded question, Miss Goodwitch. You and I both know that the extent of his injuries goes far deeper than just the surface of his skin. The damage…between the Nevermore and those grenades…’

‘A straight answer, if you please.’ Glynda Goodwitch’s voice was as sharp as a knife’s edge, her eyes brooking no dissent. ‘You’ve denied me any kind of visitation since he woke up on the grounds that he was ‘too ill’. Weeks now. The Vytal Festival and my patience are almost at an end. Is. He. Better?’

Pietro steepled his fingers beneath his chin, once more at odds with himself. That the young woman held James dear was obvious, Pietro knew the feeling well. But there were principles at stake beyond simple affection. His oath as a healer went hand in hand with his oath as a scientist, neither of which he could betray with a clean conscience.

‘He is…physically recovering. James has a strong constitution and his aura worked quickly to repair the worst of his injuries. Given time and care, the body heals. Sometimes in ways we don’t yet understand.’

‘So, he _is_ strong enough for visitors?’

‘That’s not for me to say.’

‘Am I going to set his recovery back by seeing him then?’

‘That’s not for me to say.’

‘Doctor!’

Pietro flinched, worried for a moment that the woman was going to personally use him to batter down the doors. She seemed to sense his distress, recoiling a few paces as if he’d struck her.

‘Doctor, if you do not speak plainly in the next few minutes I will…’ Glynda paused, head bowing as she clenched her teeth. Her hands were balled into fists, and the anger on her face warred with fear. ‘Please. I need to know he’s alright.’

‘He doesn’t want to see you.’

Pietro had expected mixed reactions to his words. Anger. Pain. Hurt. Humiliation, even.

He hadn’t expected contempt.

‘Bullshit.’

\------------------------------

The door to the private room smashed open with a flick of her fingers. ‘James! James, you had best have a damn good reason why you’ve been keeping me standing out in that foyer every day for…’

The anger and indignation died in her throat as she laid eyes on him. She’d expected startled. Ashamed. Apologetic if he knew what was good for him. Oh and he’d better know what was good for him considering how he’d made her wait outside for three weeks now with not a word of welcome.

She didn’t expect him to cringe in his wheelchair, blue eyes wide with sudden fear. It was enough to halt her in her tracks. He stared up at her, shying away from her. Vulnerable. Helpless.

‘James…’ Glynda’s voice cracked, her eyes taking in the damage that weeks of surgery still hadn’t repaired.

Loosely dressed in hospital pyjamas and a warm dressing gown, the new indentations of the metal shell protecting the remaining organs of the right hand of his body visible through the soft fabric. A phantom sleeve was pinned across his chest, whilst the empty right leg of his trousers was folded up and fastened shut. A book lay in his lap, a thick astronomy tome that she recalled piling into a bag when she’d ransacked his quarters for any comfort items he might need in the hospital.

‘James.’ She recovered herself before he did, pity strangling her anger before it did anymore damage. ‘How…how are you?’

‘Glynda…’ His eyes darted past her to the door, where no doubt Doctor Polendina was still staring after her with a helpless hand outstretched. ‘I said I didn’t want to receive any visitors.’

‘Yes, well, this is my last day off before the combat tournament starts.’ Glynda folded her arms beneath her breasts, eyes hardening as some of her previous anger returned. ‘As your _friend_ , I wanted to come and see that you were alright.’

‘You’ve come. You’ve seen.’ His vulnerability vanished, abruptly stifled by a surly knitting of his brow. ‘Can you please leave now?’

The anger that she’d shovelled away leapt back in full force. ‘Oh? Just like that? So you’re fine, then?’

‘I am.’

‘Perfectly healed up?’

‘Of course.’

‘Just waiting to get back into the world?’

‘Naturally.’

‘Good.’ Glynda walked to the back of his chair. ‘In that case, you won’t mind going for a walk in the gardens.’

Shock paralysed him for a moment, then he began to sputter furiously as she began wheeling him toward the door. ‘Wha…what? I don’t need a walk, I need…Doctor! Tell her to put me back!’

Pietro looked at Glynda, opened his mouth and shut it just as quickly. ‘Perhaps a little sunlight might help? You’ve been cooped up in here for weeks, after all.’

James glared at him, but Glynda knew she had him trapped. His options were to come quietly, or come throwing a temper tantrum. With more time perhaps she might have been patient. But she would be taking him nonetheless.

\---------------------------------

Atlas was a place of miracles. Glynda didn’t have to like the way their government or military worked to appreciate that much. The unforgiving Solitan wasteland had bred an indomitable will in the first settlers of Mantle, necessity had given birth to invention. That strength, that cleverness, had almost spelled the world’s doom during the Great War.

In peace, it had created a paradise. Hence why here, a thousand feet about the surface of Remnant, Glynda could wheel James to a stop next to a small lake in the middle of a plush green lawn and smell fresh flowers whilst her eyes took in endless miles of tundra.

The beauty of the vista around them was lost on her charge. James was slumped in his wheelchair, blue eyes devoid of any emotion as he gazed out listlessly.

‘Ozpin sends his best wishes,’ Glynda murmured. She sat next to him, legs folded beneath her with uncharacteristic disregard for the grass stains on her skirt. ‘He would have come himself if he could have.’

‘I’m glad he didn’t.’ James…well, she wouldn’t say he was pouting, but it was dangerously close. Against her better judgement her lips almost twitched. ‘I don’t want him to see me like this.’

‘Like what, James? Sulking like a child that’s had his toy taken away?’

His head snapped toward her, eyes narrowed and mouth open with such hurt that she almost relented. She stared back at him, mouth set firmly as he gripped his remaining hand on the armrest of his chair.

‘How dare…’

‘If you won’t tell me what’s wrong, James, then I’m going to have to guess.’

‘Guess?’ He rasped out the word like a curse. ‘Guess!? Glynda, are you blind?’

‘I think I might need reading glasses, but no, I have excellent vision. I can see your injuries just fine. Just like I saw them when they brought you in. When I sat by your bedside for a week waiting for you to wake up. There’s nothing new about them to me.’

‘They’re new to _me_. Don’t I deserve some time to get used to this? To being half a…’ His voice caught, whether from emotion or from the realisation at what he’d revealed she did not know.

‘This was cruel.’ He slumped down in the wheelchair. ‘I’m not ready.’

‘Were you ever going to be ready for this?’ Her resolve almost faltered again. How easy it would be to let him be alone. It was what he wanted, after all.

‘I just need time. Time to get all of this straight in my head. Time to get used to this. How things are going to be. I’m going to…’ He moved to wipe his face with his right hand and almost fell out of the chair. When she steadied him, he stiffened under her touch until she let him go.

‘I’m going to need time.’ He finished lamely.

‘Time isn’t always a friend. Sometimes it can be a false comfort. Or are you going to pretend you weren’t planning on hiding away in your room forever?’

‘Not forever. I just…I needed…’

‘James.’ She took his hand. This time he didn’t pull away, his eyes travelling up to meet hers and holding them. How long had it been since they’d just been able to get lost in each other’s eyes?

‘I’ve been a soldier for…ten years now,’ James closed his eyes. ‘I’ve seen so much combat. I’ve seen so many people get hurt. My men, civilians, the raiders and bandits that we were fighting. People were injured. People died. But I didn’t ever think…’

‘…anything could happen to you.’ She finished softly.

‘Glynda, when my aura broke…when I felt those teeth going into my leg…’ James shut his eyes tight, frustrating the tears threatening to spill down his cheeks. ‘I realised that everything I’d ever told myself was wrong. I wasn’t faster. I wasn’t stronger. I wasn’t lucky enough that it would never happen to me. It happened. _Anything_ could happen to me out there. And I can’t…I’m not used to that yet.’

Truth was a funny thing. Glynda had dug for it, demanded it, yet now that she had it she felt no better. ‘James, we both know that there are never any guarantees in this life. That you’re still alive is a miracle.’

‘So Pietro keeps saying. So Arthur keeps saying. Every day I wake up and people tell me how _lucky_ I am. Do I look like a lucky man, Glynda? Does any of _this_ strike you as the blessings of fortune?’

His chest heaved, his breathing was shallow. His eyes travelled downwards to where her hand now rested against his chest.

‘Survivor’s bias is a terrible thing, James.’ Glynda traced the line under his shirt and the bandages. The line that now marked the limits of his flesh. ‘You may not feel lucky, but all of us do. We still have you. Maybe it’s selfish. But I’m not sorry that you’re still alive. I’m not sorry, despite all of this. I want my world to have you in it.’

James opened his mouth to speak, but she beat him to it. ‘And don’t you dare say that there’s any less of you in the world now. I can tolerate a lot, but if you dare…alright, what’s so funny?’

The sudden smile on his face had taken her off guard, as did his move to take her hand in his. ‘It’s nothing. It just figures you’d be the first person around here to stop treating me like I’m made of glass.’

‘You’re made of pain in my ass, that’s what you are,’ Glynda muttered. To her horror he started _giggling_. ‘Would you please stop laughing at me?’

‘No, no, it’s fine, it really is. You being mean to me but not really. It’s almost…normal.’

‘I’m not normally mean,’ she grumbled, but did not resist as James slowly pulled her down to rest on his lap. The metal of his right side felt strange, but not completely uncomfortable.

‘You know…you can get a good view of the stars right here. Later on, when it gets dark.’

‘Would you like to have a nurse wheel you back out here?’

‘Could you?’

‘If you stop laughing at me, maybe.’

‘Hmmm….’

‘James!’

‘Still so mean…’

‘I am _not_ mean!’

‘You are mean,’ he grinned back. ‘And I adore you.’

The good mood lasted longer than she’d hoped. Soon enough, too soon, the spark in his eyes dulled a little.

‘I know things aren’t normal, James. And I know that things may never get back to normal. Not how it used to be.’ If he couldn’t accept that, then maybe he needed more help than she could provide.

‘Normal…’ James chuckled humourlessly. ‘I didn’t even know how normal felt until I didn’t anymore. But that’s okay. I’ll be alright. Maybe not tomorrow or next week but I’ll try.’

There were many words she could have offered. Words of comfort, of encouragement. In the end, Glynda settled for kissing him. His stubble itched, but she was reasonably confident he got the message.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rather a short one today, as I'm behind on Ironwitch Week and I'm hoping to catch up before the end. Fortunately I have more of Baking and Matchmaker planned out, but the Double-Date is the one I'm looking forward to most.


	5. 'find me a find, catch me a catch'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a world where Cinder & Co were barbecued by Amber, Pyrrha is still selected to inherit the dying maiden's powers. Dwelling on the change in front of her, she begins to regret what she might never have. Glynda Goodwitch comes to her, bringing sympathy and good advice.
> 
> On the other side of the campus, Jaune falls into the company of General James Ironwood. Who does not bring good advice.

‘Ah, Miss Nikos, I thought I might find you out here.’

Pyrhha’s head jerked up, so lost in thought had she been that she hadn’t detected Professor Goodwitch’s approaching footsteps. ‘Professor! I’m so sorry, I didn’t…’

‘Think nothing of it,’ the older woman favoured her with a measured smile. ‘I thought I’d check up on you. Today was a day of many revelations. I certainly didn’t want to be alone when I first learned these secrets.’

‘It’s all a lot to take in.’ Pyrrha’s eyes travelled back to the tower, thinking of the secret room near the top where a lonely young woman was resting in a hospital bed.

Amber had already been through so much. An assassination attempt that had almost taken her life. Needing to kill the three assailants just to survive herself. Finding out that she was dying into the bargain and was required to pick her own successor? Her courage was more than admirable, it shamed Pyrrha to her core.

‘Maidens, secret wars, magical powers…this morning my biggest problem was finding a da…well, never mind. It all seems so small now.’

‘Not at all.’ Professor Goodwitch leaned against the railing, her own gaze travelling upwards. ‘All problems are relative. It may not be on quite the same scale, but I would never belittle your frustration at capturing the affection of young Mr. Arc.’

Pyrrha started. Had she been that obvious to read? Her cheeks burned as red as her hair. ‘Miss Goodwitch, I don’t think…’

‘Oh you need not fear,’ the professor…winked? ‘Your secret is safe with me. Jaune shall not hear about it from my lips.’

\---------------------------

‘Excuse me! Jaune Arc, wasn’t it?’

Jaune was startled out of his own world by the hand that slapped him across the shoulders. ‘What? I…uh…I, that’s me, yes?’

His eyes finally locked on who had touched him. Broad shoulders under a crisp white and grey uniform. Jaune jerked his head upwards to find a kindly set of blue eyes beaming down at him.

‘General Ironwood? Uh, sir!’

‘At ease, Mister Arc,’ General Ironwood patted him on the shoulder again, the force almost sending Jaune to his knees. ‘You aren’t one of my own cadets, so we shall dispense with the formalities.’

‘Thank you…sir?’

‘You’re quite welcome.’ The general took position at Jaune’s shoulder. ‘I saw you standing over her and thought I might come offer my congratulations on a well fought victory yesterday.’

Jaune gazed back across his shoulder to the main campus of Beacon some seven hundred metres away. To see him from there, Ironwood must have a telescopic vision semblance. Still, for a general of a nation’s entire military to bother seeking him out…

‘Thank you, sir. It was a difficult…’

‘But why do I find you standing out here by yourself?’ Ironwood pressed on. ‘Surely you should be celebrating with your teammates?’

‘Well sir, I’m…’

‘Is it about a woman?’

Jaune paused. ‘Ah…well, in a manner of speaking…’

‘Ah, my boy,’ Ironwood slung an arm around his shoulder. ‘I could have recognised that look from a kilometre off.’

 _It **was**_ _a kilometre off_ , Jaune’ s mind swirled.

‘You’re not the first young man to come out to the cliffs of Beacon and look to the Emerald Forest for his solutions to the mysteries of the heart.’

‘I was more thinking about ways to help my partner…’

‘I’m not inexperienced in these things. If you like, perhaps I could share some of my wisdom in the matter?’

‘Sir, I…’

\--------------------------

‘I didn’t realise it. Not at first.’ Pyrrha raised her head briefly, green eyes scanning over the skyline of Vale below them. ‘I just hoped for a partner that wouldn’t judge me based on my past. And he was just so…wonderful.’

‘Certainly not in combat class,’ Goodwitch muttered. ‘And I doubt Miss Schnee would share your opinion.’

Pyrrha nodded, the point was a fair one. ‘But…that’s not a rare problem, is it? So many people, boys and girls, they try and be something they’re not. Jaune was trying so hard to be this suave, cool, ladykiller huntsman. And then he stopped. And underneath all of that was just…Jaune.’

‘I knew another boy like that, once upon a time.’ Glynda ran a thumb along her chin. ‘Convinced he was the second coming of Ozma the Brave. Mister Arc reminds me a little of him, in certain ways.’

‘Oh?’

‘Arrogant. Overconfident. Self-indulgent in his fantasies of heroism.’

‘Oh.’

‘But he did come a fair way,’ she allowed. ‘Once a great deal of the bullshit had been knocked out of him. There _was_ a good man under it all. Perhaps, if things had been different…but we aren’t here to talk about me. Did Jaune do something to upset you?’

‘It…it really wasn’t anything he did. He was sweet. Or trying to be.’

\----------------------------

‘And then she just…threw me back against the wall.’ Jaune sighed.

‘Been there, done that,’ Ironwood muttered.

‘I know she didn’t mean it,’ Jaune continued. ‘It was just her semblance acting up. She was in tears afterwards. Not fake ones. Not like she was scared I’d tell a teacher. She was terrified she’d hurt me.’

‘And then?’

‘And then she ran off,’ Jaune slumped back over the railing, head in his hands. ‘I still can’t find her.’

‘Have you been working on your apology?’

‘Apology? But I didn’t do anything!’

‘Jaune, Jaune, you had nine sisters?’

‘Seven sisters. And how did you even…?’

‘You should have learned by now, it’s always your fault.’ Ironwood gave him another pat. ‘It’s easier that way, trust me.’

\---------------------------

‘He’s just so…infuriating.’ Pyrrha growled. ‘What do I have to do? Wait in his bed in my underwear?’

‘Believe you me, my dear, he’ll just assume that you got cold and need extra blankets,’ Glynda sighed. ‘Trust me, I’ve tried it before, and no one came out of that looking pretty.’

Pyrrha didn’t catch her last grumbling, but it was something about _expensive lace_ and _best perfume_. ‘So how do I do it, then? It feels like I’ve tried everything to get him to notice me.’

‘Shy looks?’

‘Done.’

‘Coy looks.’

‘Done and done.’

‘Offering to do homework together?’

‘One of the first things I tried.’

‘Alright, but have you tried giggling flirtatiously whilst you twirl a strand of hair around your finger and look at him like this?’

‘Professor, I’m not an idiot. That was one of my first moves.’

Professor Goodwitch shrugged her shoulders and dropped the pose. ‘Then I think you’d better just tell him how you feel.’

‘But Professor, if he can’t get the hints that I’m putting out then…’

‘I know. Better than most people, I know.’ Glynda folded her arms, eyes narrowing at a distant memory. ‘You want things to be perfect. I did too, once. Unfortunately, the man I wanted didn’t take a single hint I was dropping. Nor the hints that every other lady was dropping apparently. Two decades later and he’s still a bachelor. Believe you me, you’ll be doing both of you a favour by just telling him.’

Something didn’t quite settle well in the words. Pyrrha’s lips twisted, then her entire face scrunched up in confusion.

‘So did you?’

\-------------------------

‘Because, Jaune, sooner or later you realise that being in the right is meaningless.’ General Ironwood had been swigging heavily from his hip flask. Jaune was hiccupping a little from his own imbibement. ‘Sure, you get the satisfaction of a victory. That flush of pleasure when she walks away, knowing that your logic is unassailable. But it doesn’t last, lad. It doesn’t last. And is…is your pride going to keep you warm on a cold winter’s night in Atlas? Is…is being right going to make your life brighter or…less…les empty?’

‘I…uh…I don’t know…what if she doesn’t want me?’ Jaune mumbled. ‘She’s perfect. Smart. Beautiful.’

‘I don’t know…maybe you make her laugh? I mean she can’t exactly see you if her eyes are closed.’

‘Good point. Good point.’

‘Look, Johnny...’

‘Jaune.’

‘…a woman like Miss Nikos often does not come into a man’s life twice,’ the general said. His eyes roamed over the lawns, lips curled in a faint smile. ‘A woman whose strength is matched only by her wit and grace. Who challenges you to be the best version of yourself every single day. When you find that woman, you should seize the chance to be with her. Even the shadow of a chance…it’s better than being alone.’

‘But…did you?’

The general froze. ‘Did I what?’

‘Did you seize the chance to be with your Pyrrha?’

‘I…’ Ironwood paused. ‘I didn’t? I…I didn’t, did I? I just let her go. Let her slip right through my fingers.’

They hung there for a moment, blue eyes meeting then narrowing in determination.

‘Let’s go,’

\---------------------------------

‘You tell yourself whatever you need to!’ Pyrrha pointed an accusing finger at the combat professor. ‘But you clearly didn’t practice what you’re preaching!’

‘Miss Nikos, this is not about me. This is about you.’

‘You’re just dodging the issue! Did you ever give the man you were interested in a clear sign of your feelings?’

‘I dropped hints.’

‘Oh, so I have to be direct, but you can just drop hints and be fine with it?’ Pyrrha had never been more outraged in her life. ‘You know what? Thank you for the advice, Professor. I’ll be sure to do the exact opposite. Maybe then I won’t wind up all by myself, still pining after a man I was too scared to be honest with!’

‘Pyrrha!’ A boy’s voice broke into their argument.

‘Glynda!’ A deeper voice followed quickly afterwards.

Jaune Arc and General Ironwood appeared out of the night, both men panting heavily like they’d just run a marathon.

‘Pyrrha, there’s something I need to, wait…’ Jaune turned and dry-retched over the grass. ‘I need to apologise.’

She stared at him blankly. ‘What?’

‘Uh…whatever it is that I did?’

‘Oh, very smooth Mr. Arc,’ Professor Goodwitch sneered. ‘Great work, James. Really great. The old _‘apologise even if you did nothing wrong’_ trick. The Ironwood Special at work.’

‘I didn’t have a lot to work with,’ the general growled back. ‘The boy didn’t have a clue, just like you said.’

‘He’s not the only one!’

Pyrrha cleared her throat lightly. ‘Professor? Whilst the general is here, maybe there’s something you should say to him?’

‘I have nothing to say to this man except goodbye, and even that I have to choke out.’

Pyrrha didn’t know how well her own disappointed stare would work against a woman like Glynda Goodwitch. She could only hope it was half as successful as it was against Nora when she caught her eating the cookie dough before it went in the oven.

‘Very well,’ Glynda drew herself up to her full height and stared dead ahead at his collar bone. ‘James, I’ve had feelings for you since the day we met. And, whilst you’re a pig-headed, stubborn, uptight and frankly obnoxious when you’re in the mood, I would like for us

‘Glynda,’ James likewise drew himself up to full height, then frowned in confusion as he lost sight of her. ‘I’m sorry I argued with you about who composed that waltz that night. Because, despite me being right, I now realise that the argument was entirely unnecessary and was completely my fault.’

He shot a nervous glance back to Jaune, who gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up. He turned back to Glynda, beaming, only to catch her glare full in the face.

‘That’s…it?’ She growled. ‘After fifteen years…after I confess my…you, you….!’

‘Perhaps you two should discuss this further?’ Pyrrha suggested. ‘Maybe…over dinner?’

The two adults stared at their respective charges, then back to each other. Glynda sighed, the tension easing from her shoulders. ‘I don’t think that would be a good idea, Miss Nikos. We really shouldn’t have a late night when…’

‘Pyrrha, would you like to grab dinner with me?’ Jaune suddenly broke in. ‘And…maybe Professor Goodwith and the General can chaperone?’

‘I would be amenable to that.’ Ironwood started forward, a spark in his eyes that hadn’t been there a moment before. ‘After all, we shouldn’t let our students wander alone after dark, right Glynda?’

Her sigh was heavy, her scowl deep, but Glynda linked arms with the General a little too eagerly for Pyrrha to believe it was anything but willing. ‘Well, if I must, I must. I suppose we should show the younger generation how to conduct themselves on a date.’

‘So it’s a…?’

‘I didn’t say that!’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might be able to spot the exact moment where this failed to become a serious chapter.


	6. 'ironchef'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the first breakfast they cooked together, to the last cup of soup after the Fall, food was practically a love language between them.

_Breakfast,_

Her happy humming woke James only a few moments before the smell of bacon did. He thought he recognised the tune, something boppy and bright about lazy Sunday mornings. Considering it was a Wednesday, perhaps it was a little misplaced.

He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he took in the bright walls of her apartment. The bedroom was neat, organised, very much like it’s owner. The scent of fresh flowers and jasmine hovered in the air, her perfume on the pillows making him want to bury his face in them.

‘Morning sleepyhead!’ A woman’s voice called from the kitchen. ‘Stop lying in bed and come help butter the toast.’

Rummaging around until he found his pants, James checked himself quickly in the mirror in the hope that he was presentable. The hickeys decorating his neck and jaw dispelled him of that notion.

‘James!’

‘I’m coming, I’m coming,’ he called back. He made his way down the short corridor that ran the length of her apartment. ‘I can’t find my shirt anywhere and…oh.’

He couldn’t find his shirt because Glynda was currently wearing it. That, and not much else apparently.

‘Glynda…’

‘Sorry to ruin your shirt with bacon grease,’ she said in a tone that implied the exact opposite. ‘But I appreciate your sacrifice for the integrity of my wardrobe.’

‘You wear it better than I do.’

‘Liar,’ Her nose crinkled as she grinned. ‘This thing’s like an overcoat on me. Now, shake off that hangover and get buttering.’

‘It was only one bottle of champagne,’ he protested half-heartedly. ‘It’s not every day we both have something to celebrate.’

‘Hmm, _I_ was celebrating _my_ victory in the Vytal Festival.’ Glynda lived a piece of bacon out of the pan with a flick of her fingers, a purple glow surrounding it as she tore it in half and popped a piece into her mouth. ‘What were you celebrating?’

‘My beautiful girlfriend’s victory in the Vytal Festival,’ James opened his mouth to receive the other piece of bacon. Glynda paused with an eyebrow raised. ‘Because I love her very much?’

‘Hmm, better. I’m not done celebrating yet, though. I’m in the mood to lie on the couch and be waited on hand and foot. I don’t want to put ideas in your head, but hand-feeding me grapes, brushing my hair and giving me a foot massage might be a great place to start.’

‘But you made me breakfast?’

‘What can I say?’ Glynda leaned up on her tip-toes to claim his lips with hers. On this occasion she smelled of sourdough and tasted like bacon. It was heavenly. ‘I love my handsome boyfriend very much, too.’

\-------------------------------------------

_Second Breakfast:_

‘Fresh salmon,’ James licked his lips. ‘Straight from Lake Matsu. Seared in butter and served with button mushrooms and fried potatoes.’

‘Excellent choice,’ Glynda complimented him. ‘I think I’ll take the venison backstrap, freshly hunted in the game reserves up in Northern Vale. There’s a salt marsh up there where the deer tend to graze, it gives the meat a very unique flavour. Red wine jus, obviously.’

‘And for dessert?’

‘Lemon meringue pie, I think. With walnut biscuit pastry.’

‘Good choices.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Now, can I interest you in a dry cracker?’

Glynda sighed heavily. ‘James, I could almost taste the lemon that time.’

‘I know.’ His stomach rumbled heavily in agreement. ‘Remember, we’ll have to wring every penny of our restaurant bill out of Ozpin’s neck, so you need to keep your strength up.’

Glynda made a face. This far out into the wastelands, there just wasn’t enough game. And what there was had barely been enough to augment their meagre supply of rations. They’d dined on lizard two nights ago, rabbit the night before that, and a scrawny kangaroo had provided just enough energy to get them out of danger.

The near starvation had stripped the fat from both their frames. And she fully intended to regain every ounce of that fat just as soon as she could sink her teeth into a juicy steak. In the meantime, they both were left shivering, the bitter wind vicious enough despite their thick oilskins and the cave James had found. Soon enough they’d have to leave their little fire and keep pressing west. It was their only hope.

But first they needed food.

‘My mother always said there was only one way to eat military-grade crackers,’ James’ hands shook as he tore open the foil packaging. ‘Put them all in a pot, then add some rocks and boil for an hour with some salt. At the end of the hour, throw the crackers away and eat what’s left.’

‘Hmm, I must be going crazy, because cracker soup sounds delicious to me right now.’ Glynda pressed herself tightly against his left side, soaking up every last bit of warmth he could offer and trying to return it in kind. His prosthetics must have been agonising in the cold, but he had refused to show her anything but stoic cheer ever since the first winds of winter had begun their merry march from the north.

‘How much food do we have left?’

‘Well, we have the crackers. Half a satchel of butter chicken. A small tube of peach jam aaaaand…some pepper.’

‘Ooh, a veritable feast. And how far are we off from the nearest settlement?’

‘At this pace? Maybe another day.’

Glynda reached over to the backpack and took out the rest of the food. ‘No point in saving it, then. We might as well get our energy up.’

‘What are you…?’

‘Shush, let me work.’

Laying the crackers on her lap, she spooned the gluey butter chicken onto each one until there were four crackers with a more or less equal distribution of meat and congealed sauce. Taking the jam, Glynda squirted a small amount on top of each cracker, then dusted them with pepper. She eyed them critically, then picked up the largest one and turned back toward James.

‘Open wide.’

He obliged her, taking a large bite out of one half of the cracker while she finished off the other.

‘Well?’

‘Who needs salmon and steak?’ He leaned in, her head tilting back to receive his mouth on hers. The faint taste of jam and pepper lingered on his tongue, an appetiser for the flavours that awaited them back in civilisation.

‘I do,’ Glynda said as he broke the kiss. ‘I very much need a steak. Now finish your breakfast.’

\----------------------------

_Morning Tea:_

‘Cupcakes?’ James raised an eyebrow. ‘Really, Glynda?’

‘If your masculinity can’t handle little cupcakes with pink frosting, then that’s simply all the more for me.’ Glynda snuck one from his plate as if to prove her point. ‘Besides, Qrow helped me bake them. Seemed to think they would cheer you up.’

The twitch in James’ lips seemed to prove Qrow right. He picked one up with his new right arm, metal fingers shaking inside the white glove as he brought it to his lips and devoured it in a single bite.

Glynda couldn’t stop the flood of giggles that escaped her lips. James affected a mortally wounded look at her mirth.

‘What’s so funny?’

‘You’ve got frosting on your…here, I’ll get it.’ Leaning over, she wiped the pink from his nose. A touch of whimsy made her smear it across his lips. ‘There, now there’s not a thing wasted, I think…James!’

The man in question had wrapped his lips around her forefinger, quickly licking the frosting off and then retreating with a smug expression. Glynda glanced to her left, the scandalised horror on a nurse’s face making her own cheeks flush.

‘Two can play at this game,’ James popped another cupcake in his mouth. ‘Mmm, these really are delicious. And Qrow made them you say? Perhaps I should be dating him instead…’

The next cupcake was telekinetically smushed against his stupid, self-satisfied face. It did not wipe away his stupid, self-satisfied grin, however. If anything, it only got broader.

‘James, don’t you dare!’

Broad arms wrapping around her slim waist, drawing her in until his frosting-covered face was pressing into hers. The other patients and staff in the hospital garden stared curiously at the pair, the two teachers now giggling like schoolchildren as they kissed pink frosting off each other’s faces.

They could stare until their eyes fell out as far as Glynda was concerned. If it took them making fools of themselves to make James laugh again, it was worth every moment.

\----------------------------------

_Lunch_

‘Please! Please! Help yourself to whatever you like!’ The village headwoman waved toward the communal kitchen in the centre of the village hall. ‘It’s the least we can do.’

The mixed force of Vale huntsmen and Atlas military slowly filed into the building, stacking their bulkier weapons at the door and some even ditching their armour. The two weeks of fighting had taken a toll on all of them, but the Grimm rampage had been halted and the nest destroyed by a mixture of Glynda’s telekinesis and enough high explosives to level a mountain.

Glynda shrugged out of her travelling cloak, James helping her remove the garment and hang it on the wall. The shrapnel in her right arm was a comparatively minor wound, but he’d insisted on having it placed in a sling until her aura could heal the damage. She supposed it was lucky he hadn’t insisted on carrying her back to the village himself.

‘Have the men eat first, Lieutenant,’ James was telling his aide, a young huntress with brilliant white hair. ‘Enlisted first, then officers. You know the drill.’

‘Roger that, Colonel,’ the young woman saluted. ‘If I may, sir, you should also eat first. You need your strength.’

‘Thank you, Winter,’ James offered her a kind smile, but shook his head. ‘I’ll eat when everyone else has eaten.’

Glynda might have been tempted to roll her eyes at the martial display, but she had seen first hand the kind of loyalty his example inspired. The core of Vale’s best huntsmen liked to sneer that the Atlesian military were chocolate soldiers, very pretty on parade but would melt in the heat of battle.

Now they shared fresh-baked bread and jugs of the local ale, sitting together regardless of kingdom, swapping inside jokes and friendly banter as to who killed more Grimm and in how stylish a fashion. More united them than divided them. Ozpin’s dream of a unified world realised in the heat of battle.

She and James sat at the head of the table, waiting their turn to eat as the last of their small band filed through. Only when Qrow and Winter had sat down over piled high plates did James finally rise. Glynda made to follow him, only for his left hand to stop her halfway up.

‘Let me.’

Either she was too tired or too soft to tell him no.

He busied himself in the small kitchen, coming back with half a loaf of crusty rye, a small wheel of cheese and a plate of cold cuts. His combat knife flashed as it left his sheathe, hands deftly working to cut and pile thick slices of bread, cheese and meat with cherry tomatoes and crispy lettuce. James even divided her sandwich into quarters so she could eat left handed.

The first bite…the finest veal in Vale had never tasted so good. James was tucking into his own sandwich with the fury of a man who’d eaten nothing but ration packs for two weeks. For a while, nothing could be heard in the hall but loud chewing, the slurping of ale and unrepentant burping.

Had they been her students back at Beacon, she would have probably pitched a fit. As it was, she was no better than the rest of them, manners forgotten as she and James progressively demolished the remainder of the bread and cheese, then a roasted chicken, then a small mountain of scones with cream and jam.

When they were done, the impromptu dining hall quickly became an impromptu nap room. Vale huntresses collapsed against Atlesian operatives, young Miss Schnee had Qrow’s head in her lap, delicate fingers idly playing with his hair. Glynda found herself slumping against James’ shoulder, unable to fight the stupor the food was sending her into.

‘We should take a holiday,’ she murmured.

‘Sounds good.’ James stretched himself out on the ground and gently arranged her so that her head was resting on the left side of his chest. ‘Where do you want to go?’

‘Somewhere warm,’ Glynda yawned. ‘And very sunny.’

\-----------------------------------

_Afternoon Tea:_

‘This is good.’

‘Mmm.’

Glynda basked in the sunlight, the soft lapping of the waves lulling her into a gentle torpor along with the fruity cocktail nesting in the shade. James sat further back, a loose fitting shirt and the umbrella keeping his prosthetics from heating up in the sun, but equally catatonic in his recliner.

‘James?’

‘Yes, love?’

‘Could you get me a snack?’

‘Yes, dear.’ Reaching across to the cool-box next to them, James took out a pint of ice cream and a spoon. Placing three generous scoops into a large glass, he then took the bottle of hazelnut liqueur next to him and filled the glass to the brim.

‘There you go.’

‘Thank you, darling.’

‘How long are we going to stay here?’

‘How much leave do you have saved up?’

‘Months.’

‘Same.’

‘Good.’

\-------------------------------

_Dinner:_

She raised an eyebrow at him when she entered her apartment. ‘Should I ask how you got in here?’

‘Let me answer that question with another question. Do you still like white wine from the Southern Highlands?’

‘There’d better be at least three bottles in my fridge or I’m calling the police.’ She still accepted the glass he passed her with a grateful nod. ‘What smells good?’

‘Well, I thought spinach puffs for a starter, then lamb shanks for a main. Then perhaps a walk to Messino’s for gelato?’

‘Mmm, keep talking like that, General, and a woman might think you have ulterior motives.’

James knew the steps to their dance like it was a slow waltz. Slipping behind her, he bent his head to kiss her neck, his arms wrapping around her waist and drawing her close as she melted against him.

‘I missed you,’ he whispered in her ear.

Glynda didn’t answer at first, her hand reaching to stroke the side of his face. ‘Missed me enough to take an early retirement?’

His lips tickled the nape of her neck, sending a shiver from scalp to tailbone. ‘You make a compelling case, I must say.’

‘James, don’t tease me with that…’

‘It’s not a tease,’ he insisted. He spun her around, honesty in his eyes and his lips twisted in that earnest smile she’d never been able to resist. ‘My tenure on the Council is almost up. Come next election there’ll be a new general selected. I could set things in order at the Academy, pick a successor and pack my bags for Vale.’

‘Oz will be cross with you,’ she warned. ‘He hates inducting new members so often.’

‘It’s been twenty years.’

‘That’s pretty often for him.’

‘Well, he can stick it in his mug and take a long sip.’

‘Well, in that case, I hope you have plans to find a job in Vale when you get here,’ Glynda slipped his grasp, a mischievous note in her voice. ‘Apartment’s around here are exorbitantly priced.’

‘I was thinking I could earn my keep?’

‘Hmmm, if you think I’m the kind of girl to invite a man to live with me just because he can cook…’

‘Then I’ve judged you completely right?’

She was about to snark back when a tangy note reached her nose. ‘Is something burning?’

James’ hand shot to his mouth as he let out a shocked gasp. ‘My spinach puffs!’

\--------------------------------

_Supper:_

By the time the fighting ended, it was past midnight. Stray gunshots still echoed on the streets as the remnants of the Vale militia and the Atlas security force skirmished with the occasional White Fang straggler.

Glynda found James sitting on the steps of the Vale court house, still in the tattered remnants of his service dress, his shoulders slumped and head bent as one of his few remaining subordinates read him the latest casualty reports.

‘James?’

He started at her voice, eyelids crusted with blood and grit fluttering open as she sat down next to him.

‘Glynda…is Oz…?’

She took his hand, not trusting herself to speak. He understood the wordless message. His face crumpled, his whole body recoiling like it had been struck with a sledgehammer. Glynda drew his head to her shoulder, pretending not to notice the tears soaking into her filthy shirt.

‘You need to eat,’ she mumbled into his hair. ‘Keep your strength up.’

‘I failed him.’ The words came out as a broken sob. ‘I failed all of you.’

‘We all failed.’ Glynda struggled to keep her own tears down. Not for his sake, but for her own. If she did, she might never stop. ‘We’ll have time…all the time later. Now there’s people that need us. They all need us. We need field hospitals, emergency shelters, rescue teams...’

‘It’s too much. I can’t…’

‘I know.’ She broke away from the hug, catching his shoulders in her hands. ‘I know. Just…let’s eat. We’ll eat, then we can tackle one problem at a time. Please...’

James took a deep, shuddering breath as he nodded. ‘Alright.’

Glynda had picked up a canteen of soup from one of the emergency shelters. She portioned it into two small cups, handing him one along with half of a dinner roll. A meagre meal compared to the dinner they’d shared a few hours ago. It tasted like a feast.

And as the sun rose above Vale, the headmaster of Atlas and the new headmistress of Beacon rose, wiped away their tears, and got back to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made myself hungry writing this. Brb, gonna go cook and then try and finish Chapter Seven before tonight.


End file.
